The yard sale began when the old man who lived on the corner set out his lawn mower and hedge trimmer with a sign that said PLEASE. We all had baggage, so we filled our yards with the sadness from our long lives. Our signs dripped with cheerful paint in blue and yellow, like a sunny day. We took to the streets surrounding us, going door to door like salesmen, pleading with our signs. By the time someone answered, the day had darkened and felt serious. What was next? Was their someone to call? Besides our children, who were never home?
It had rained for 4 days, not 40, but nevertheless a boat the size of an ark had come to rest at the end of the cul-de-sac. We grabbed our Bibles to find out what might happen next. Was there a Noah on board? Would there be animals exiting, two by two, like in some ancient parade? What we knew for sure was this was California, and the sun was breaking through, and the water drying up, and we would soon be stuck shoveling mud, but oh my, what a magnificent rainbow that was, filling up the blue, blue sky.
The Last Day
At dawn we gathered out front to greet the last day. What was going to happen to us? Martha had her crystal ball, Jake, his Tarot cards, and Justine the deck she’d stolen from the Sands Hotel before they knocked it down. But no one saw anything in them but darkness. Tonight, we’ll hold a pot luck in the cul-de-sac which will be like any other, we’ve told ourselves, but where we’re sure to say, is this really it, for sunshine? Wow. And as the sun dips behind the trees we’ll light candles, awkwardly hug, promise to stay in touch.
Linda Lowe's stories and poems have appeared in Misfit Magazine, Six Sentences, The Beatnik Cowboy, Microfiction Monday, and others.