G r e t a I g l
Impatiens cower under the heavy shadow from a red maple. Slats on the blinds clench like disapproving lips. No children clamber on the playset, nor do they seek respite under its rainbow awning. No toys dot the lawn, nor do bikes litter the driveway. No high, happy voices float like dandelion seeds on spring’s tender breath. The children file from the bus, eyes down, as the garage door opens to swallow them. Sometimes, a shining minivan backs out, but the windows are blank, black eyes, shaded shut.