Present

Rivers run to the sea. White foam panels insulate the leftovers as the farm begins to take on water. The rifle is loaded. The family is seeking shelter in the basement.

Where the Air Begins.

Where does the room end and the air begin. Hands touch faces. Leaves cover the wells. We can't see where christopher has chosen to hide. It is not what we believe that matters it is what we feel. Something is wrong and we all know it. Something is eating away at the center of our stomachs as we glide down the saw mill park way.

Boat in Pictures.

I was watching the back yard and waited for the best time to start the cleanup. The clouds were gently blanketing the light from hitting the back yard. The breeze was cool and calm. Do you remember the day we were first waiting to see if the seeds grew. You watered the back yard for 40 days. Then on the 41 day we went outside to see the first sprout come out of the ground. Do you remember the picture of of us sitting in the row boat? The yellow and blue sweater you were pulling over your head? Do you remember how you laughed? The rain started. I remember.

Endings

It wasn't that the town was that far away it was just that I knew it was over. The phone had lousy reception.
"what are you saying.. are we breaking up!"
I finished saying something  but who would really know what words made  it to the satellite and back down. Two tin cans in the backyard would have worked better. 
The Farms were turning in for the night with their hazy yellow light. The earth rolled outside  it's orbit. My chest felt heavy. The sea tipped over the edge. 

Blaming the Frost

The beginning is always a long soft trail of memories, of kettles. Crayons and mandarins fill the table with a pleasant smell. Somehow the neglect game is starting and there is nowhere to hide the ice dam crawling into the kitchen. 

Rain and Clouds

I might see a cloud but not the rain. I could see a bruise but not the pain. I could hear the words but not see a point. I begin to choke and wait for the joke.

When I Choose.

When I choose to remember I see a field of corn. The radio is between channels. The paint is peeling off the barn. When I choose to remember I see her at a counter behind a cup a coffee. Street lights blink on and fill the walk way will oval pools of green light. When I choose to remember I can see the corner of the attic. Behind the knives in a shoebox, I see what I have chosen to forget.