SHARING SPACE
Crossed a linoleum floor
to a paisley spread,
newly weds
side by side in
separate beds - two
children shared a
heated room; one sucked
her thumb, one wet
her bed.
His Uncle's boots untied,
perched on a stool near
a metal sign - selling
old stuff, “Antiques,” he
said.
Cribs, pillows, one old
blanket hung to divide
a living space; his new
family all crammed
into one room -
Is this their honeymoon?
“Stay put, lots of space
right here, near the beach,”
his Uncle John tugged on
a sunburned arm.
Many a night we slept
on wet sand - youth
was on our side, and
traveled long distances
counting stars, counted
quarters for a hamburger,
but a place like this
should be torn down for
the sake of two children
laying side by side -
two children asleep
with toes sticking out of
the rail of a crib.
That night eighteen
wheelers cruised on a
beach road going eighty
miles per hour,
afraid to shut your
eyes -
as head lights
beamed into our room.
By morning light, while
pelicans were playing on
a dock – feet tip toed
passed a hanging blanket;
heard a couple snore -
glanced at two children
sharing a crib: sheets
the smell of urine.
Left paisley spreads and
separate beds, newly weds,
and children sharing one
small crib – in one room
among antiques, on a
beach they told us they
lived.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all right reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment