“The Fragile Things”

by G.T.

                                                                   Lights at the end
                                                                   of cul de sac tunnels
                                                                   are blacked out when
                                                                   the electricity is
                                                                   shut off. Only children
                                                                   sleep soundly in darkness.

                                                                   A family and their struggles.

                                                                   Leaving the dust that had settled
                                                                   on the bare fireplace mantle that
                                                                   once housed family photographs.
                                                                   A carpet of empty couch
                                                                   indentations and covered
                                                                   in shreds of torn packing
                                                                   tape and crumpled
                                                                   newspaper for the
                                                                   fragile things.
                                                                   Load it all in
                                                                   the truck
                                                                   borrowed
                                                                   from a
                                                                   friend.

                                                                   And rip out all of the light fixtures before you go.