inspecting the attic

the attic
was moldy, dusty.
dirty
grungy when we pulled
down the wooden
steps.
they wobbled with
our weight
when we went up,
holding a flashlight
in our hand.
we didn't know what we'd find.
what secrets
from the past lay hidden
in trunks,
or bags.
the webs
were stuffed in the rafters.
spiders scurried and sat
still.
the small
white bones of birds
and other
creatures
who called it home
were scattered about on
the pink
insulation greyed
like wool.
an ancient burial ground.
the bats, like figs
twitched
in their dreams,
their claws holding them
upside down
in the wood.
nothing up here to be
seen. why bother with secrets,
with what we don't know.
we left
and thought of different
things.