Seeing into Time

Bowzer was blasting away a

Saturday night-

and the wood stove kept

a peculiar smell

a certain chemical

I can feel it in my nose

right now

after 34 years.

My dad sang

“goodnight sweetheart”

and the day melted away

in deep sounds

rumbling through his chest.

I was held

and faded up the staired hallway

(past the place where Gramma Brown

had hinted at chains and ghosts)

by the old wire spool table,

landing softly

my wood post bed

where I had earlier

sawed off a bed post

and placed a puppet over the void

still undiscovered.

a long term plan

if I’ve ever had one.

Ping!: Ping!


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