We’ll Be back tomorrow
Our hands hold his, praying they will squeeze back. Wishing his eyes will open and offer one more of his sly winks, as if this was one last joke of his. His grand finale. We keep the door to his room closed, hoping we can keep Her at bay a bit longer. Her distant footfalls echo down the hall outside. They seem louder than when we were here last. Closer.
DWIGHT STREET
There we sit, with merely the dull crackle of the Furnace and tap tap of falling leaves hitting the warped glass of the House’s old windows. Windows that have stood vigilant over the neighborhood for the last century. Windows that watched my Mom and her Brother grow up and then eventually my sisters and I.