a haven of childhood dreams; where sick days feel like snow days and the comforting ease of a weighted, worn blanket is always just around the corner. still spinning bike tires and dirt caked toys lay discarded and dozing on a generous green lawn. a devoted dog, collared and quiet, sleeps soundly in the sunny haze of a front bay window. the family name: ‘the brinks’ is scrawled happily to the left of a heavy, pale blue front door. three young daughters and a son live here with parents who get along, who all fit together; easy and natural. eyes shine, smiles flash, recognition and wonder, an understanding: home isn’t just the walls and floors, it’s the people, it’s people, it’s always the people. lunch is served on solid brown tupperware plates: perfectly grilled cheese sandwiches sit stuffed and spilling oozy slices of kraft american cheese from bread that is soft in the middle and seared crispy and hot at its edges; butter and salt course all the way through. beside the sandwich there is a crunchy pile of funyuns chips and a cold cup of apple juice the size of a child’s hand. they eat lunch together like this, at a large dining room table, plush beige carpeting beneath her dangling socked feet. mary poppin’s sugared spoonfuls spill softly from the next room, the “family room” they call it..

about this poem

this is a piece of flash fiction (inspired by true events & people) . it’s also a list story, a riff on a list poem

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