The swing set
under the tree,
summer humming
to you and me.
Little red shoes,
baseball cap in blue
swinging away
each tiny bruise.
Free as birds,
light as air
when you are young
you don’t have a care.
If we had met
when we were seven
I wonder if 25
would now be heaven.
I can’t hold on
much longer.
Our swing set
used to be stronger.
The swing set
under the tree,
summer humming
to you and me.
Our grips slip
but don’t hit the ground.
Both of us ghosts
never to be found.
©2021 Jai Lynn
Never a day passed that I didn’t think about Milkweed Manor.
Yellow Carnation Lane was older than old and younger than young. It had been around as along as there were houses with people to live in them and yet, no matter how much time passed, the homes never seemed to sully or gray or chip, chip away. Except for one, the largest of them all, waiting always waiting at the end where the concrete ran dry.
Milkweed Manor was tall, but only in the sense that it was big. It was wide, but only in the sense that it was squat. When the seasons turned to fall to winter to spring to summer its siding seemed to shift and shrink without changing shape at all. Whenever I looked down the end of the lane I never saw the same picture twice.
Shutters blinked open at the whims of the clouds. The front door, painted dried red, was the only thing that ever seemed to ever stay closed. At nights in the heaviest heat the chimney chum, chum, chummed. Autumn winds blew from its windows no matter the snow, or rain or sun. Lightning had struck the gabled roof 13 times and never a mark had been left undone.
Weeds grew and some black roses filled in the front lawn spaces too. The iron gate was double my height and half my sight. It never ended, no matter how many times I tried to count the bars the number never stopped climbing and climbing. Nevertheless I could always find the 666 of the house number carved into the black, bone shards splintered to cut the number inside.
To this day I have noticed and watched. The neighbors come and the neighbors go but little do they know. Little do they know. I guard the gate, older than old, and a face young as nine. I, alone, bear the secret of the keeper of Milkweed Manor. If you ever come to see 666 Yellow Carnation Lane do not be confused to find yourself turned around back once you came.
No one was there for me ever so long, so long ago. So I guard the gate. Therefore to keep the demon inside never to wake.
Be grateful for those unknown, who protect you when you are alone.
©2021 Jai Lynn
This post Vignette #34 “Milkweed Manor” appeared first on Jai Lynn.
Where are you,
where are you?
Do you know
I’m right here?
So lonely,
so lonely.
I’m fading
to nothing I fear.
Searching
and searching.
Darkness abound
but vision clear.
Fighting
and fighting.
But they slip…
tear after tear.
Monsters and ghouls,
monsters and ghouls
see my sorrow
and leer.
So lonely,
so lonely.
I am closely
near.
Where are you,
where are you?
You are
not here.
©2021 Jai Lynn
Jai Lynn 