Wednesday, April 11, 2018
In long-ago rooms, reeking cigarettes and stale booze,
a small child held onto a vision of peace:
a cottage with sunny rooms and picket-fence,
where freedom dwelled.
Three times, in those long-ago years,
midst all of the moves through temporary rooms,
she made a home, wrapped it around her heart.
They glow, now, in memory, those places
where she created sanctuary, and peace,
spoke with nature spirits,
and lived the soul-deep joy of finding home.
for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Vision
and Kerry's prompt at Real Toads: to write a poem about "Long-Ago Rooms" in twelve lines or less.
In the midst of moving 33 times in my nomadic life, three times, the homes were mine. They glow like lamps, in memory.