In the end there was the sound of crushed gravel, the burden of perception, and labored footsteps up the walk. Behind the rose colored door the children sat with their distractions, and a heavy, three day old cake sat with its candles tilted like trees lashed in a storm – white tipped, and forgotten.

 

And there were bowed heads

And there were dark eyes

 

And in the end there was guilt and shame and broken ventricles hovering in the Sunday air, darting, swooping, touching down on orange counter tops, growing heavier, and then rolling over the edge where the children tried to catch it, open palmed, and expectant.

 

And then footsteps up the stairs

And the cake in the garbage

 

 

© Elle Wonders 2009–2016

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