322 Eastway Drive

322 Eastway Drive
By Gabriela Rose

Echoes of shouts fill the room.
Glass shatters under its volume.
Fragments of red pinot noir glass fall like marbles
rolling across amber wool carpet.

Pieces of glass enter my skin as the blood drips its trail
to the negro marquina marble table with ebony steel chairs.
Paper-thin baby blankets cover the blood,
while the old Roman-numeral clock
collides with the chestnut jukebox.

The worn burgundy leather couch lies silent
under the roar of destruction.
The old dog rope toy hides away
in the corner. Try not to inhale
the vanilla candle, fresh blood, and tuna sandwich.

Empty rays push through the dust-covered glass windows.
The battle is over.
Now the silence of broken
pieces hangs in the air,
waiting to be breathed.