LatinosUSA

His was the only house

painted pink

in the whole neighborhood

It looked silly in the

warm season

and creepy in the cold

small trees dotted the front

and back yard

and further

beyond a forest began to

gain contours

It was a forest of

birch trees

and he visited it every time

the pink house

felt like it no longer wanted

him inside

and unfortunately that

was almost

every night

“I feel it in the vibration

inside the walls,” he said. “It’s

akin to a baby’s cries. She

doesn’t want me

here.

Never did want me here.”

He was talking about a daughter

who departed

some eight years ago

along with his wife

They wanted the house to

be painted pink

and he did it for them

It was one of the requests

they made while he

was sober

everything they asked while he

was sober was granted

problem was

they rarely caught him

sober

Soberness meant it was

time to talk about

all the

shit he’d done while drunk

so he’d drink some more

to forget

and then do

other stuff worth talking

about

One of the most

vicious circles in

reality

and the hardest to

break

“A circle only breaks when

there’s nothing

sustaining it,” he said to

the birch trees behind

the pink house. “And now

I am nothing.”

He walked up to one of the trees

and circled it with

his arms

and bit with his lips at

the few pieces of peeled bark

and closed his eyes

it was close enough to

hugging his

wife, for she was pale

and thin and bony

as the birch tree, and biting

the peeled bark

was close enough to

biting her hair and…

Well, better not to think

about it

Better to just ask

how in the hell did he hug

the tree in

daytime

and closed his eyes

and when he opened them

again

it was nighttime

What the hell was

this birch tree magic?

He went back to

the pink house

and sobered up

Swore to himself that

he’ll never get

drunk again

and opened

another bottle of vodka

to celebrate that