A buttery blue Buick LeSabre rusted in the driveway beside the powdery, cornflower house.
Where we once chained the dog to the garage.
Where wild things turned rotten.
Where scars hardened and calcified into bone.
Where seasons steadily bled down the legs of time.
Where I bled, face cut open.
The site of family barbecues and of family emergencies.
Of busted lip and toil and homework at the dining room table.
Nightmares on the sofa.
A family tree full of ghosts.
heartbreak and cigarettes 
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