g r a v e l

House with Dragon Trees

 

 

 

The sun warms this morning before Easter, paralyzing cats in windows. "Pop Goes the Weasel" plays. Tiny feet chatter chasing an ice cream truck.  There was a neighborhood below the volcano.  I see the house with dragon trees, a net above the garage, backyard swings.

 

 

I return to bed.  Teary Eary, my plush dog, remembers.  See the boy run on cut legs.  Hear a soprano howl as the belt sings.  Smell the iron scent of blood.  Teary's fur is worn from hugging and biting.

 

 

At twilight, I rise and float ghost-like over the driveway.  The children are gone.  Popsicle sticks like in the gutter.  I flip the mailbox lid and find a bomb inside - an Easter card from Daddy.