Home Skeleton


The home skeleton left nothing to be remorseful about. Faded stains of traffic along the carpet, trails that took us from room to room, where we once sat, ate, read, slept, laughed, loved, screamed, hated; now open, breathing light.

The dog sniffed the ground and looked up. I wonder what can she can know from smells.

Evidence of a lineage lay scattered; objects left behind: Grandfather’s stethoscope and book on spines, M0m’s book of prayers next to a broom and dustpan, Dad’s tripod and dresser made of yellow plastic bamboo.

I look out at the crusted snow, the fallen fence, the dusty tree, poetic reminders of a family who might love, but not well enough. Not right now, maybe later, maybe never.

I tell Bill I never want to come back here.

He tells me, never say never.

About clutterheart

You don't know me, but you will.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Home Skeleton

  1. Hi! I nominated you for a Liebster award at slimegreen.me! (Kinda like a blog hop thing.)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s