Come Closer

Where X has locked the spot, preserved the fiction
That we are about to enter, about to know
Where she kept her chickens, where she kept her children...

There--

Lean against the hill's barn door.
You can hear the fiddles in the middle distance;
Someone must be dancing.

They say their rings are perfect and they gleam!
Dancers polishing a gold and concrete formation.
I hear that only the reckless see the fairies.

You could see mockingbirds and lizards
In dolls' waistcoats and old taffeta dresses--
Cold.

Maybe the scholars see the dead in them...but you,
You never read that last analysis of those old tales,
The one that tagged their toes with version numbers,
The one that racked them like a withered symphony.

Listen. It's all music, spinning like the spiders
In these old corners.
You've pulled your share of tunes to the ground,
Slapped a few concertos from the path.
Music is easy, music requires no detox.

Whatever you hear, come see.
What you fear, come be.

Let's just say that I am never the one who says "Let's stop at there and see what that's all about." I am the person who has Yelp open and is checking to see whether other people have eaten or visited and would return. I am the person who is more likely to say that something looks closed because I can't see lights through the smoked glass. You will not find me leaning against a barn door in the middle of nowhere trying to determine whether I know the song I keep hearing in the distance. Probably.

And I'm definitely the person who is thinking about a flash story about haunted Yelp reviews. :)

Hope you're having a non-haunted week and yet encountering a good run of stories. Sharing this one today with The Sunday Muse which is today celebrating the 50th prompt! Yea!! Thanks, Carrie for creating this engaging space to spend part of our week and please come join the community if you're so inclined.

-- Chrissa