The light through sparrow boughs,
filtered and fine, fell upon
expectant and unused,
like a condom in its wrapper.
We walked hand in hand through the pine,
discussing things we knew nothing about,
calling it love. Holding hands, mine sweaty,
clutched tightly against the unknown…
Our boots stomped
on crispy dead leaves.
It was cold and getting dark.
We dreamed of a place to get warm,
and then it appeared…
The smoke, distant and spiraling heavenward,
(or maybe just away from here)
came from a cabin in the clearing
towards, timid and silent.
Not knowing what was inside, or rather, who,
we held our breath to lock in our fears.
There was an ax in the middle of a log.
An empty bucket with daisies sprouting around it.
Some kind of sheet hanging over the window.
There was no turning back now.
You knocked on the door.
I pictured the worst.