Bench SeatEvery day she longed to have wooden floors.
In her dreams they were crumbling, bleach white boards,
she could trace the outlines of the cracks with her toes.
As she shambled through the golden corn field,
on a path beat down by muddy footsteps,
she could smell something burning in the breeze.
Back at home, she could smell the animals,
living among the sickly sweet flowers.
They burned her nose, the rotting flowers.
One day, a fire burnt down the crumbling barn.
The animals were crying, buckets were filled,
and ash fell between the cracks in the floor.
She remembered his car driving down dirt roads,
the dust and gravel filling her lungs and head.
The music was playing, they couldn’t hear.
He pressed his foot down harder on the gas,
their voices raised together, sing-song from the bench seat.
They were covered in dust, their feet in ash.
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2011 EDITION]
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