Mother morning came too early. The doctor calls in sick and the baby came out prematurely, purple blue screaming. A door, a great and old weathered oak, silver-knobbed door between massive white pillars. Roman cornices, cupids and nymphs, Loki and Puck, Greek Goddesses, naked, nimble, dancing around each other’s troubles.
Now night is still and sleeping, hiding in the rain. Everything is coated in a thin film of black. He walks. He walks alone and approaching the house. He has walked this exact walk many times before as a child, as an adult and still wonders why it feels so unfamiliar, so impossible.
He walks broken.
(Why did she do it?)
Two hands are in his pockets. Each step splashes in dark puddles. Drips run down his thick heavy brow hammering out of his forehead and dangle off the round nose placed in the center of his face. They fall to the ground just like the rest of the raindrops, making ripples. Boot heals click on pavement drowning in wet puddles. The moon does not shine.
Light flickers above. Two windows glow warm on the second floor. Green shades drawn shut. With his left index finger he touches his forehead hesitantly, pulls back the thin moist hair dangling in his eye and pushes it to the side. Water runs in his eyes and he blinks standing there staring up at the house where he lived as a child. Nothing has changed.
(Why did she say those things?)
He turns around walks back to the silver Toyota parked at the end of the curved black driveway. Freshly mowed grass clippings float in puddles. Green knife blades without handles, he sees them and recognizes it. Worms have begun to crawl out of the ground.
The cold wet car door handle presses down against his white soft fingertips. He pulls back removes them, he doesn’t have a choice. There is no one else. Who will accept him now?
(I did nothing for her. My heart… All I have.)
The long driveway looks endless twisting like the black brick road knotted all the way to the closed door ahead.
(All I have to do is knock.)
Lightning flickers illuminating lizard posts and garden hoses, a thin gray fence around the yard. The plum tree he grew up with (a swing?) has grown twice its size, wilted and has no leaves. Bare, frail naked branches fracture across the house’s facade. The hedges along the left side of the driveway have now reached over his height. As a child they were always as tall as he was like a wall safe from the invisible creatures on the other side. Large fanged dogs drooling streams of saliva. He would jump around the corner battle and be victorious. He looks now twisting his thin long neck and tall body to look around the corner. They are still there waiting, saliva freshly collecting at the corners of their mouths, dripping from jagged teeth.
(I want her back. I won’t go back. The sound, her voice sweet honey, my sugar baby, I love you.)
The inventions have not made sense for years. Still he keeps putting the gears together. There must be stoplights at every corner and everybody needs a paycheck. His genius goes unnoticed.
(I can’t do this.)
Vines begin to crawl up the house, scattering and wrapping around the windows. The sun comes up; the rain dries out, wind blows and the clouds race across the sky. All the leaves turn green, flap in the wind, and curl under in the rain. Flowers pop from the ground like question marks blossoming in vibrant colors around the house. Bees buzz about, visiting each one. A humming bird swoops down hovers before his face, darts left, veers right, jets away. Worms crawl off the blacktop. Some are eaten by birds, others dry up. A rabbit zips across the yard stops, eats some clovers, keeps on moving zagging. The neighbors, hand in hand, walk by. A small child follows them riding a small yellow bike with one large wheel in the front and two small ones in the back. Her feet race to peddle and keep up. A white long haired Maltese runs around them hopping on two legs, ‘look at me, look at me, look at me,’ the couple stare into each other’s eyes. The little girl runs into her fathers left leg.
“Ouch,” he lets go of his wife’s hand, turns smile, “Susie, you’re such a cutie-come here.” He picks her up, lifts her right out of the tricycle.
She giggles, ‘Daddy, I’m sorry. Why did you put your foot there silly? You put it right in front of my way.”
“I found a pretty flower for you.” She raises her hand over her head gripping the yellow four-petaled weed high as he holds her up to the sun. The dog nips at his pants. ‘Look at me, look at me.’ They walk to the street corner, pause at the stoplights, look for traffic, cross casually glowing with love.
(My mother, why have you left me like this?)
Lemon yellow smiles
With gray clothes
Dance on Alice’s hat
Without a rabbit, she wouldn’t have it.
Fluids like glue
Travel through tunnels untrue
Solidify his mind.
He stares at his palms. Seeing age.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barks.