Sunday, April 21, 2013

Day 21: I gotta to see a man about a chainsaw

For some reason today the prompt made me think of all the old historic buildings around here that perch on hillsides and sag and then slowly fall down.  What lost stories are falling with them and who will take the time to dig them up. 


The old school house rested on the crest of
hill near the restless blue-breath of cold sea
has finally collapsed into itself.
Time is in the wind that picks up over
rocky cliffs. That slowly eased the redwood
planks apart until, tired skeleton, it
sank. For weeks, no one stopped their car, no one
witnessed. Only the ghosts remembering
what their footsteps spelled when they were in flesh.
Until a big man noticed. Eddied out
of traffic to pick through what was left to
gather what wooden stories the dead have left.
It was there, sifting through the planks that the
box was found. Unbroken belly of black
age-tanned wood. The man shook his head at his
discover. Feeling the ache of what
lay hidden inside. Silenced voices, dark
words that would rush into him once he let
them out. Once he did. Once he found a man
with a chainsaw and opened the musty
box his eyes washed clear as deep as the sea.
His path opened by the truth.

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