The floor was carpeted with peanuts. -- K. Pranas
Editor's Note: This was a submission to the Holiday Fiction Writing Contest.
The floor was carpeted with peanuts.
This was the house where the washing machine was on the porch–
And the grass was tall enough
To hide the secrets; and the
Carparts, tires filing cabinets
Her shriveled hands carefully unshelled
As she sat, cross legged, in the dark
Broken glass and blood in the driveway
Sometimes, on the cold winter nights
In the room where the roof caved in–
Rotted–
I saw
The stars
And I felt
The cold.
And it didn’t even matter.
The floor was carpeted with peanuts.
This was the house where the washing machine was on the porch–
And the grass was tall enough
To hide the secrets; and the
Carparts, tires filing cabinets
Her shriveled hands carefully unshelled
As she sat, cross legged, in the dark
Broken glass and blood in the driveway
Sometimes, on the cold winter nights
In the room where the roof caved in–
Rotted–
I saw
The stars
And I felt
The cold.
And it didn’t even matter.