(by kristi bennett)
from the front, you would never know. from the front, we greet you, anthro/vintage/funky/retro style, say, "welcome to our neatly creative home!"
you would never know what awaits you out back. out back, where i hearken back to my arkansas roots, ala white trash style.
where we stand, on tip-toes, staring down, dodging warping boards and popped nails. "go back inside!" we shout to any little faces that appear in the doorway, wanting to take a peek, explore this grown-over half sandpit, half jungle that is our backyard.
the dog slips on the slime growing atop the split and cracked planks that somehow comprise what is loosely referred to as our "deck." he throws a look back over our shoulder, as if to say that we are neglectful for not getting this situation fixed for his safety.
the random things that line the back wall of our house are a reflection of just how we feel about the backyard and deck: a bag of half-washed sand toys, rusty bikes, coolers, electrical cords still plugged in from the last time rick weed-eated. which, after all the rain we had, seems like forever ago now.
squeeze our eyes shut, hurry the dog inside, the mess will wait another day.
after all, no one can see it.