the antique rug that she found again at the prison auction
had evidence tags hanging like dead moss off of it.
she tied it to the top of her Geo like a christmas tree
while a warm vancouver rain washed the blood from it.
she sped down I-5 until she hit olympia,
scraped the shoulder of the off-ramp,
eyes gleaming like a raven's wing
held up to full moon-light.

her father's gun was wiped down with rubbing alcohol
and placed with the butcher knife in the glove compartment.
her father's bones made the lillies in her garden grow large,
she always knew there was something special inside of him.
her father's antique rug was taken by a chubby pale police chief
who was sorry for her loss and let her know, while leaving his card,
to call
if she needed anything.
wow...GG. this was great. Dont stop writing please.
Last edited by CarnivalBeam at Jan 20, 2012,