No closet pocketed the clothes back then, so
his bed tucked in that space under the ceiling slant
where he peeled wall paper during nap time.
I imagine cowboy boots kicked careless in the corner,
hat hung on peg while Roy Rogers ticked time.
Some years later, his mom exchanged the twin for double
and lined it parallel to the window
that overlooks the field. We slept there once when we
came home to visit. The room’s so cold.
Our son’s crib nestled on that wall before it
gave way to a rollaway
and then bunks where he wrestled pillows and
hung Goldberg and Stone Cold Steve on the walls
and lined up matchbox cars OCD so. He used a fan
year ’round and burrowed under quilts.
When he left home, I moved my desk up from
the basement and placed it where I
can see the field and watch the seasons change
and view the wild life.
Here I write my stories and my memories,
and I turn a heater on in winter.
Still playing with poetry,
Also linking with LisaJo for Five Minute Friday (though this might be Ten Minute Friday) on the word prompt SEE.