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Prickly Heat
The gifted house and the ghost of his Grandmother trapped him. Her presence clung with the leftover nicotine to the walls of every room. A childless marriage and a rancid divorce left its bile in the scum atop the kitchen counters—rust-rings on the bathroom’s porcelain. The horse chestnut tree outside the door stood as an overt warning, pelting anyone trying to enter. As his lover, I disregarded it.
wisteria
uproots the moss-laced lawn:
a pet’s gravestone
With steel wool and a strong arm, I whitewashed the house. Grandmother’s spirit smiled in the spring when new bulbs rose. But, the antique cannon in the front hall still aimed at the door. The man was too used to his darkness. Love was not enough.
trespassers
are shot on sight:
empties on the stoop
Published by KYSO Flash 2015
Copyright ©
Debbie Guzzi
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