A room. A bed. A TV. A VHS tape. A father.
The scene I am waiting for is coming up,
only he shows up as three knocks, three men.
“There is a girl hanging in the foyer,” he says.
So back to a wallpapered windowless bedroom, floral and pink.
A twin bed, a comforter, a box TV in the corner.
A homemade VHS tape, a father and a daughter.
The important scene is coming up, I know this.
But he interrupts again, announcing himself as three.
Three knocks, three men.
“There’s a girl hanging in the foyer,” he says.
And again, back to the windowless bedroom, girly pink and floral
The twin bed with the while frilly comforter, the box TV in the corner.
The VHS tape of the father and the daughter who is not really a daughter
The important scene is coming up, but I won’t be able to see it, I know this.
Before he can interrupt, before he can present himself as three knocks,
I open the door. But he still shows himself as three men.
I know what he will say, he knows I know what he will say,
but he says it anyway. “There’s a girl hanging in the foyer.”
This time I leave the windowless, girly pink and floral bedroom,
the bed, the TV, the VHS tape of father and daughter who is not a daughter,
I leave behind the scene I must see but will never see. I know this.
The foyer is a tower, circular and ceilingless.
A rope hangs down from nowhere and a body
spins slowly one way, then the other. A spiral staircase.
I run a thousand steps just to make it five feet above where I started.
Around and around and around; I am dizzy sick when I reach her,
but the staircase rails are tall as prison bars.
My arms and legs are just long enough to claw her towards me.
The noose around her neck slackens.
The room, the bed, the TV, the VHS tape, the father, the man of three,
they have all disappeared, have left me here with no options,
my arms and legs wrapped around some lifeless girl I don’t even know.