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NANNY’S HOUSE WAS EMPTY
Nanny's house was empty, totally void, and it was strange because I had been there during the summer; when she was dead, Grampy was in the home, and the house they'd spent thirty years in had to be cleaned out so it could be put on the market.
I was there on the third floor; ninety-seven degrees mothball stink and dust, thick like the skull of the ex-girlfriend helping me.
I recall the rafters in the attic packed full, the floors laid out with dusty comforters and lamps, every closet teaming with clothes, shelves crammed with books, magazines, notepads, papers, old check stubs, sewing kits and old pictures.
After five years, thirty years, sixty years, FOREVER, all the possessions saved for and acquired; the comfortable sofas the new cars and clothes the expensive stereos, CD, DVD– all that shit, is left to collect dust and be sold off, thrown out, or divided up and argued over amongst kin, leaving an empty house to be filled by the next family of materialistic dreamers.
As Heidi and I finally reversed down the steep driveway, away from the house, I felt lucky to be with someone who said she would be happy living in a box, as long as it’s with me. |
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Ryan McLellan is a poet and English teacher at Timberlane Regional High School in Plaistow, New Hampshire. He has been published in Plymouth State University's The Centripetal, The Vagina Dialogues, and The Clock. He lives in Exeter, writes all around New Hampshire, and wishes to thank everyone he has come across for his inspirations. |
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Dance to Death, Issue III |


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©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within. |