A Love Story
A dilapidated house in the woods, panes onto the
distance, blankly, about to cave in on its own ribs.
There is a woman inside the house and she is
laughing into the creases of her hands, thinking
of how all her favorite names sound like the color
pink. And a man across from the woman, sitting
on the edge of the couch. He is trying to make
himself smile. In the hallway, there is a coat rack
with three hooks. Only two of them are occupied.
Outside, the wind. It howls a pretty tune about loss.
There is an unconscious space next to a young man
sitting in a church. The priest is giving the lecture on
what it means to trust while the man holds his own
hand in his lap. Staring through the window, he sees
a rosecolored woman get into a rosecolored car and
drive away onto a rosecolored street. He turns back
to face a man looking down on them. Is it pity? And
another man pacing beneath him, sweating a little,
talking woodpecker words into the mass. There
is only one God, the man says. One. One, one, one.
The boy hears a thrum beneath. Hears, Amen.
There is a house getting torn down in the woods next
Tuesday. A whisper walks through it, touching a spare
screw rolling on the floor and every single door frame.
Years from now, there will still be a space in the forest
the exact size and shape of a place someone’s parents
fell out of love. In the distance, leaves rustle with the
breeze. The house grabs onto the forest’s land tightly.
Plants grow up the walls. Birds nest in the rafters.
Their calls make the spider webs in the windows tremble.