by Treehouse Editors
from Finola McDonald, author of Denial
1. Against all the darkness of the small, city–suburb that was my home. Curious how
something so big could be so small against the night. Also wondering
if I could ever look as magnificent
under the same circumstances.
2. Getting off the bus at dusk a few blocks from our tired, green, house.
Surprised to see him out at this time, still carrying faint stains
on his whiteness that time so graciously lent him.
3. At midnight, still up, peering through the kitchen window
at the blue walls, and the land line,
shining a faint light
on the pantry.
4. Through the rearview mirror while I rush to leave,
catching him for a moment, imagining he is saying
goodbye, don’t forget to fill the tank
before returning to his present atmosphere that I
am moving further from.
5. Looking for him through the cracks
in bedroom doors, or by the meat market,
greeting strangers, asking my grandmother who says:
“He’ll be up soon, love, he’s just down for a nap.”
Finola McDonald is a Bronx native and coffee enthusiast with a thing for writing. She is currently completing her undergraduate studies at SUNY Purchase in Westchester, NY.