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The Motel
by D. W. Moody just like others we had lived in called home for the weeks or months we’d managed to stay the motel room was cramped with the six of us brothers, sisters, mother all crammed into one room barren of privacy in spring the heavy rains came the parking lot disappearing under a small pond my younger brother often climbing out the shallow window to play freely in the dirty water in winter we’d run out into the snow in our shorts and nothing else racing past the other boys our bare feet and hands numb as we’d climb up a hill of ice pushing to reach the top to be king of the mountain when we first moved in the shower full of discolored green tiles covering the floor lining the walls every evening we stood on that harsh cold surface until the night amidst his tears and screams the tiles fell showering my younger brother with debris |
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