☀ Today's Poem: "A Place Beyond Shame" (excerpt) Ed Steck

Son of Ghoul, 2012: Grayscale image of a face faded in a photograph

Self-portrait, Son of Ghoul, 2012

Trafford, Pennsylvania.
Mid-morning, Christmas Eve.
Slate-colored sky, hills, water.
A road. A gravel driveway leads to an old house.
Brush settles, laps wind.
The driveway is overgrown with scrubby grass, jaggerbushes.
Trees hang sparsely in the web of winter.
Squirrels everywhere.
A gray 1992 Nissan Maxima pulls up the drive.
Clouded light smatters leaf shadow on windshield.
An old house with foxed, exhaust-speckled aluminum siding appears.
Two blanketed windows face out above a garage filled with errant
Cherry Master machines.
Dirt walking path leads to entrance at side of the old house.
Screen door hangs askew from frame.
Son of Ghoul exits the car, walks the path, knocks on the side door.
Ghoul answers the door, handgun pointed through the screen,
dog runs into woods.
Ghoul allows Son of Ghoul to enter after confirming identity.
Ghoul: 'Son of Ghoul, you have returned.'
Ghoul and Son of Ghoul enter kitchen.
Cans, mud clumps, emptied cartons, prescription bottles, drug
paraphernalia litter.
Ghoul and Son of Ghoul walk into the living room. Ghoul sits in recliner;
Son of Ghoul stands.
Stunted light only penetrates the room in lengthening slivers.
A stereo, a television, a bag of dog food, a folding card table: pills, foil, lighter.
Vinegary egg odor permeates the room.
Ghoul: 'Are you looking for the heroin?'
Son of Ghoul: 'No. It's Christmas Eve.'
An audible emptiness cauterizes the room.
The immobility of light touches, leaves every object.
Mid-morning passes into early afternoon without event.
Ghoul falls asleep, Son of Ghoul exits.