I sat inside and watched the coin flip over
beautiful to underwater in fifteen minutes flat.
it made me stare blankly into a corner
and imagine the pungence of damp cement
the squealing of those soaked through
and the slamming of screen doors.
the corner with the colorful painted handprints
of those who originally decordated that room
names and additions made to the prints.
some names I can place with faces
others are receeding memories
and others still were fleeting souls
only there until before me.
this is my safe place
the place I can retreat into
when things are too difficult
I roll over and face the corner
a tiny part of my world
plastered photographs
peering into happy faces
closing my eyes
to shut out the tears
and imagine the weight of that hand on my shoulder
that sun on my back
and those tears in my eyes
no, those are real.
not a part of my special place.
I find myself wishing for lazy days
spent inside listening to rain fall
off the leaves
bouncing onto still open shutters
or those that refused to close
the quiet hum of 18 girls reading or sleeping
listening to music and thinking
extended rest hours
and the chaos of activities moved
to soggy concrete basements.
then the sun would come out
peeking above and around
a solid wall of grey
happy rain showers
the smell of wet grass and dripping pines
damp sand and muddy fields
the world always somehow felt more alive
in the moments after the last of the dark clouds
finally receeded.
