When I Found a Body

When a vehicle travels along the road white dust kicks up in swirls behind
it leaving giant clouds in its wake. Breathing it in feels like breathing in
chalk dust. On either side of the road tall grass looms over the ground and
down the middle of the road short grass and weeds ride perfectly between the tire tracks. The long line of green between the bright white makes the grass and weeds look like a spine, curving every once in a while, but for the most part remaining straight.

A mile down the road it squats, almost appearing like a human. But anyone knows it is no human. The closest thing it resembles is a face, possibly a head. Two dark eyes at the top, bars bracing themselves across the eyes’ widths. The nose missing I suppose, except to those imaginations that can visualize it: two knots in the wood morphing into nostrils. The closed mouth is the closed door, hinges like teeth and the rug right inside like the tongue.

The house as the head, the road the spine. Someone must have cut off this body’s legs.