After The Season

After the season

of several deaths,

the house closed itself off.

Masking tape over windows,

brown cuffs that held

the mangled cardboard

skin – Lay Do, Side, Erator,

jut out in dark green

lettering like trash-born

Sanskrit. The front door

clasps the spring wreath,

the plastic untainted

by the rot that burrowed

in every empty space.

The crabgrass grew in

the dented savannah,

herds of unknown stock,

choked gate and concrete

until even the yard’s oxygen

reached out for surrender.

The side door drowned

in the vertical interest

of vines, space once

so often filled with the mother’s

banshee voice, calling name and name.

The perfect memory for childhood.

Same vines that blanked

the garage door, merged forces

with the kudzu in the backyard

until no more prayers could be reclaimed.

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C L Liedekev

C.L. Liedekev is a writer/propagandist who lives in Conshohocken, PA with his real name, wife, and children. He attended most of his life in the Southern part of New Jersey. His work has been published in such places as Humana Obscura, Red Fez, Open Skies Quarterly, River Heron Review, and Vita Brevis. His real goal is to make the great Hoboken poet/exterminator Jack Wiler proud. So far, so good.

Latest posts by C L Liedekev (see all)

• After The Season - December 1, 2021
• The Unmoving Journey - December 1, 2021