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Old House
March 4, 2010
The phosphorescent glow of the decaying wood
and
the blanket-thick tendrils of the woebegone house
and
the hot trumpets and torrid rhythms of her convulsive gesticulating hands
--in response to his interrogations
made rebuking words unnecessary.
But there, a succulent plant
and
tremulous, with its contorted stem writhing and rising from the broken cement
and
the leaf, an oblong of green
--he dredged her with somber repentance
and
whisked her into the house…
© Mary A., Fullerton, CA
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