nothing happened here in 1875

there is a house in town
with a plaque that proclaims
"nothing happened here."
i wish i had a t-shirt that said this same lie. 
don't we all want to be
the first planet? get to claim
our lineage like plucking rocks
from the shore? instead, the sign
instantly makes me suspicious.
i think "what is this house up to?"
who was a lover in the attic? whose bodies
are entombed in the crawl space?
nothing is the word 
of gods. a place where maybe
once they ate a secret fruit
that they decided none of us 
get to taste. before & before.
i want to knock on the door & say,
"tell me the secret. tell me exactly
what you want me to ask 
& i'll ask it." if someone did this to me
i might first say that i never wanted
to be known like this. like a denial.
i might show a scar or a bruise. 
i might turn into a chicken 
& eat the wild leftovers of
my grandmother's rot. i would definitely 
invite my visitor inside
& ask them "where does
nothing take you?" when the world
is too heavy & sharp i just pop out 
the drain & my mind goes into 
a big blue drink. goodbye blood.
goodbye bones, hello waterfall
& licorice. i search in books 
& online for an answer to 
what happened at the house.
i find none. this is after all where most
stories exist. waiting to be invited
into the emptied room of tongues.
when i first read the sign,
i read it wrong as "what happened
to you in 1875?" i think of a man's voice
as we end a date during the first week
i lived in the city. he asked 
the same, "what happened 
to you?" i did not think he would
understand me & maybe i was assuming
too much of him. i said, "nothing."