AGING BUNDLES OF DEBRIS

Aging Bundles of Debris

Seven... locked inside a storm cellar
bulbs hang to dry in damp -
darkness of night.
Sleds are posed for winter play - long
piles of wood where Mama said,
“Mice live.”

I reach to find a glove grandmother
used in her garden, stiff from yellow
paint.

Light enters near an oval window
covered in last years paper, and
saran wrap taped to studded walls.
It’s beyond the door where steps
of cement lead up to reach outside.

Tiny pieces of cement catch between
toes, tickle bare feet. Spider webs
hang near a light switch, so I don’t
touch… silver strands of silk - still -
until the bulb heats and moves the web

I am stranded here with aging bundles
of debris -

I see it now! Feel it now -
Locked down in a storm cellar -
a play spot - a hide out,
a storage room for grandmother’s vegetables -
a shed for tools, a place where
mama kept cardboard boxes filled
with dolls, tricycles - hanging above my head.

I remember - cold, and shiver run
up and down my arms – even in summer.
I remember fear, when someone caught
me alone in the storm cellar -
where children never played.

Nancy Duci Denofio
published page 5
Just Another Day