Moving Out
by Michael Tusa
Lying in the blissful glow of young television.
Idly sleeping, eyes open and ears closed.
Us among the dusty panels of creeping wood,
and us dancing in the ray of night.
Darkness softly seeping through the old glass door.
Finger stained, smoke stained.
The moonlight is about us,
and everything is hot white.
And the kitchen doors open,
and the days linger.
And the tree outside stops growing,
and the weeds in the grass grow taller,
and the rats move in,
and we move out.
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Author's Note
Childhood memories. Childhood memory.
Other stories by Michael Tusa
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Very nice musicality, Michael.
I like. Very rhythmic and the last line is two lines are killer.
*
Lulled into the long drowsy hours of childhood here-where time is different, the moon fierce and brighter, the word comfortably worn and safe--until the rats come. For me they arrived in a schoolbus and that was the end of Eden and I moved out. KABOOM.