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Casa embrujada

Built in world war two
the Spanish house stood
along the road
Capiz shells made up
its windows

Mom and daughter upstairs
went down the exterior
staircase to join the family
for evening stories
downstairs

They chatted for hours
until the wind howled
and the heavens poured
as they adjusted the cord
to record memoirs

Uncle Roth began
"farewell my motherland...."
they pressed the play button
to hear how the verse
got on

Out came "yakan, yaweh..."
children voices sang
tuneless, dwarfish, wee
dear Lord what's up with Thee
not a word from motherland!

Nervously they laughed at how
the recording turned out
but when they did
a dusty laughter they heard
from the empty upstairs

As if to mimic and mock
their jaws to shock
and brittle their hairs
to convert them
into believers.


Until now I still don't know what 'yakan, yaweh' is. I scoured the net for hints with very little success. The words are as fresh on my mind as I heard them 28 years ago.

Haunted House on Thursday Think Tank

Comments

Ella said…
oooh, I'd love to hear more! Your images are haunting!
Hazel said…
Thanks Ella for dropping. I'll think of more. Those ghosts are always around.
madhumakhi said…
That was chilling. God knows where ghosts must be hiding. The way an ordinary dinner time bonding-session ended was hair-raising.
Old Ollie said…
nice one - totally enjoyable!
Kerry O'Connor said…
This does make the hairs stand up! Your narrative certainly captures the eerie atmosphere of a ghost house all too well.
Laurie Kolp said…
Spooky! Reminds me of how we used to try and spin albums backwards to hear secret messages.
Judy Roney said…
Even more frightening to hear the the story is real. Oh my! The scene you describe, the eerie photo and the thought that it is a true story is a dynamite, late night story!
Isabel Doyle said…
what an intriguing tale in your poem: eerie and shivery

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