Untitled (A Creaking) (excerpt)
There's a creaking
against the side of this house.
I imagine it sounds similar
to what it would sound like
if all the old people
in the nursing home
down the street
would groan
all at the same time
from bad dreams
or indigestion
or death rattles
This creaking signifies a cold night,
high wind,
age.
Maybe loneliness is cold
or felt that way.
Maybe it isn't.
Maybe death is cold
but then maybe it isn't.
This creaking is not constant.
It's erratic
starts soft and ends loud
abruptly
It can flood me
with these thoughts
or I can freeze them
at the window
they come through.
I never really know
who's going to win.
Maybe this creaking
the noise itself
is cold.
But then as always
maybe it isn't.
Okay, so this piece is interesting. The free verse structure immediately grabs you – it feels raw and intimate, like whispered thoughts. The writer uses simple language but juxtaposes images in a really thought-provoking way: the creaking house becomes a stand-in for aging, loneliness, even death. There's a sense of uncertainty throughout, echoing in those repeated "maybes." Honestly, I found myself nodding along – that struggle to pin down emotions like loneliness and cold is something we all experience. But structurally, it felt a little repetitive towards the end. Maybe tightening up some of those final lines about the creaking being cold or not would give it a stronger punch. Overall though? It's a piece that lingers in your mind, making you question simple things in a powerful way.
—gemma2:27b, 2026-02-07