Ginny's Basement

[grimrose_eilwynn]

"A green light filtered

through the mourning glory vines

that twined through rusty screens

against sooty little panes

of windows level with the weeds.

We were deeper than the tulip bulbs

glowing under flower beds,

than the tangled roots of zinnias

forget-me-nots, and hollyhocks

that hung their heads

beneath a noon sun

native to her wild backyard.


"Down crumbling steps

mortared with moss

we'd descended

from summer's feverish perfume

to the cool damp reek of drains,

from the tweeting of flittering songbirds

and torqued thrum of bees

to the nasal echoes

of underground mains

toward which startled water-bugs

scurried.


"There was an odor of shadow

and cats, of moldering lint,

a sneezy scent of spilled detergent --

blue trails of Fab

that lead to a wringer washer

gagged on a bedspread.

The furnace door stood open

like a tabernacle looted of flame.

The low, unfinished ceiling

required that we bow


"beneath its canopy

of clotheslines and live wires

snubbed in electric tape.

A necklace of cold sweat

beaded from tarnished pipes.

At a workbench, a vise

clenched a sawed strip of moulding.

I tried to erase

the prints my sneakers

tracked through the sawdust.


"Deeper than they plant the dead,

beneath windows veined

with morning glory vines,

a ledge of pickle jars

filled with bolts and washers

reflected, like dusty concave mirrors,

the flash of skin

as her unbuttoned sundress fell

to the cobwebbed case of empties

at the base of her spine."

- Stuart Dybeck