Minor Poltergeists
I move through rooms,
quiet weather
changing air, its pressure.
One drawer sticks.
Light bulbs dim faster
when I’m thinking too loud.
The milk spoils early when I’m angry.
Doors swell shut.
I don’t believe in signs—
but last week,
the oven turned itself on,
then something spoke
my childhood nickname,
in a voice I'd buried with her.
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