Saturday, June 12, 2010

Newtown

Last night the blue glow of televisions in chipped white houses made me nostalgic for a past that was never really mine. I miss those sagging porches one after the other, crooked floors, gas stoves that saw their cleanest days a hundred years ago. Except back then I would always rather be in than out, and nostalgia tells it the other way: a girl outside in the street, skipping past those doors, the night sent spinning.

But this afternoon I write next to the window that blows in ocean air. The wood floor smooth as windswept sand. The highway overpass sounds the thunder. The natures realign.

2 comments:

ApeDude said...

I like this, the beauty of it. One suggestion: I'd cut the "the" in the last line. I love the gas stoves and the sand. A serene scene.

Flo said...

I concur on the "the" cut. Makes it more fluid.

Fluid like you. Like rain.