Through a Broken Upstairs Window
I gazed at one doll and one pillow in an abandoned house. A wall was charred. How many more dolls did these walls contain? How many memories? How many lives? I was standing at the intersection as traffic following a pilot vehicle streamed past. Soil was torn, new lines to houses installed, and soil was replaced. All in a day’s work. An assignment, after all. But I couldn’t help but embrace images of a family who lived there. In absence of facts, a story created lingered in the air.
on a cold day
a curtain unfurled
flapped to the wind
Written For A Cleaver Intriguing Haibun Contest
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