PAD 2020 – Day 28

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt asked poets to describe a bedroom from their past. It served as a good prompt to combine with the Poetic Asides call for a “look back or don’t look back” poem.  The first place my mind looked back to was the room I slept in when I visited my grandparents as a child.

 

Visiting

 

Four of us

crammed in the small bedroom at the Cook Street house,

afterthought lined with wood paneling.

Adjunct to the crowded porch where Grandpa kept his freezer full of meat

and Grandma kept her boxes of unused Avon products,

bought to appease her persistent neighbour.

My brother, notorious snorer, got the living room couch,

but Grandpa and Grandma thought they were treating my sister and me

to the thin mattress on the floor, giving Mom and Dad the luxury

of the spare double bed in the very same room. A small window

that opened halfway, only deliverance from the stale space.

I couldn’t stay on my side of the mattress, so my sister kicked. We both yelled.

Mom scolding us to be quiet, while Dad slept on. Oblivious.

They lived too far away to make quick trips,

so we’d spend a week of nights in that tiny space, darker than my dark

at home, I was even a little grateful for my sister’s closeness.

In the morning, awoken by chickadees in the caragana shrub,

the scent of Grandpa frying last night’s ham, I liked being the first

one to open my eyes. To sneak off the mattress, navigate the

tiny path, strewn with off-cast blankets, my Dad’s slippers,

to make it to the door. Opened it slow as syrup, to quiet the creak.

 

 

Door Knob

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo – Day 11

Playing with the NaPoWriMo.net prompt asking for a “future” poem, and adding in the Poetic Asides call for a “warning” poem.

Theory of Relative Optimism

 

Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

Is it possible? That warning?

 

I’m no Einstein, but what if he was onto something

with that relativity business? No real difference

between the future and the past. Then, before.

Ahead, behind. To be, done. Imagine, remember.

 

Define hope: Noun — an expectation and desire

for a certain thing to happen. Verb — to want

something to be. To happen. Seems like

small magic. Wish, with your eyes

closed. Can you see it? In your mind?

That future dream, sketched with coloured

memories. It can happen. It’s happening.

It’s happened. Hope for it, again.

 

Define warning: Noun — a statement or event

indicating possible danger.  Verb — to give advance

notice. To caution. Seems like there’s reason to worry

What did you know and when did you know it?

Have you seen it happen, before or after?

That past mistake, italicized, set in bold,

highlighted in yellow. It was right there,

foresight. Hindsight. Look, I’m warning you.

 

But I really hope I’ll be wrong. I have been in the past.