FanPost

There (Some)


A summer not long ago.

Enter:

July framing haunted wind lapped with thunder on evening's spilt dark hair over the porch's skeleton.

Muffled sounds inside the house about to turn loose its commune of rage, but not before the neighbors gathered at their doors, lawns and sidewalk.

A bright blast of moonlight before the cop car showed up, curious statues lolled below, then tucked away behind a dark pillow of cumulus. A knock at the door, another, then on the window with a flashlight, he scanned the scene curtained with eyes. False silhouette of justice under pale gables.

"Not leaving till I speak to someone," cop said. "Neighbors reported a disturbance."

Another inquiry, silence, gunshot, in he went.

Lost a tooth on that fucker's elbow, he said to the fat paramedic with aquamarine eyes, pastel hair done pin-up style.

"What's your husband's name, Mrs. Stone?" said another cop.

"Jody," said the mother.

Gonna roll those bones to St. Luke's, he said without looking up from his pad. Pen clicked, parlor of horror in his pocket, stiff gait escorted her to the backseat.

Creak of metal as a cat crossed along the swingset while the neighbors were still out in their yards talking about it. "Feel sorry for the child," said one. "Guy still has my wheelbarrow that I let him borrow," said another. Tiptoed. "Moved from the southside to get away from this shit," said another. Alone as always. So handsome, thought another. Even lonelier.

Hours earlier: the child's rear stained wet in the swing under the on-and-off strobe of white, legs kicked forward and back, clumps of freshly mowed grass falling off the soles of his shoes. Pistons of hurry-up-and-be-done. The ballad of cruel dimmed and peaked as it moved from room to roomburning parcels of icebergs. Go, water, go.

Dreams, they're for those who sleep

Life is for us to keep

Mother's dress torn, jeans on underneath, she opened the backdoor. Shouted: "Let's go." House like a rotted garden full of dad's breath. Wad of clothes balled up under her arm. "Where we goin?" said the child.

Kneaded splash.

The woman blew on the stone. Brushed out the engraving with her handkerchief. Left a stone on the stone. Only one stone.

She started. Amber light etched the amaranthine jaws of the mountains, the mother a paper cut-out, then braided them into the sky, black.

~

Krzysiek, if you're out there, I hope you're throwing it down. Thanks for the fire, friend.

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