it stands tall – the house – old, abandoned, dilapidated
the lawn lies bereft and barren,
once abuzz with birds, bees, and butterflies
today the trees stand still, silent, gloomy
I tread over the carpet of dry, dead leaves
the rusty teal blue door creaks as I push it open
like the fragile bones of the old woman who painted it
my grandmother – always exhausted but loving forever
the paint is dull and peeling off but little do I care
.
I climb the ramshackle staircase and step inside
it’s dusty, dark, and stinks of pigeon droppings
the room on the roof – her bedroom, and mine too.
they assail me – a whiff of her body scent
her nasal voice, the lullabies she sang me
a gust of memories threaten to drown me
panting for breath, I wrench the window open
she growls and slits my neck in a flash
just as I slit hers in a flash of fury, years ago.
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