The Ghost Room

The dresser moved and the floor groaned,

releasing a smell of cedar and trapped air.

I peeled the plastic star from the ceiling;

it left a white wound on the yellowed paint,

a point of light that finally went out.

There is a rectangle on the far wall,

a pale ghost where a movie poster hung.

The sun has eaten everything around it,

leaving only the shape of who I was

before the locks were changed.