four brief images |
a feral car on the beltway, abandoned and snarling, hood up, the reek of oil chokes my breath a noxious cloud, blue licks across the engine like water on rocks. I pass, but the image etches itself behind my eyes, with what should not be. a glow across the sky. the smell of a storm from my porch swing. lightning strikes— saguaros march ahead in flickering shadows, arms lifted in prayer. coals ignite a cactus flank— red blossoms, flowers in the desert. a pinpoint of candle light catches a teardrop in dripping wax. I see its companions: a teddy bear, the picture of a frolicking child, a white ribbon tied around the light post, it captures the memory of light cut short. a flush of reddish gold filling the hearth. I sit with you, your hand fever-hot in mine as we watch the blaze snug against the snow. the aroma of burning cedar and cinnamon catches on my tongue. I rest my head into your shoulder— home. line count: 40 Prompt ▼ |