The Room

a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The heaven was smoky brown
and wallpaper had faded roses,
clearer where pictures had hung.
Empty safe for a dead pot plant
on the window sill.

When I opened the door, dust
sighed on naked floorboards and
in a corner a crushed fag pack.

This had been our home, a family
of four. Listened to its stillness
to drunken voices and the resentment
and fear only poverty can bring.

Willed the room to tell of happy
memories, of summer days and

No. Closed the door
and left the room to be its own misery.