|Image via Google search.|
Early evening is throwing shadows across the carpet. Its light has carved a square in the wall. I pretend it's a door for my dolls. We crawl across the room together, a traveling band of children-gypsies.
I hear mother in the kitchen; she's stirring a pot for dinner. The smell of basil and spice tickles my throat. Carol Brady bounces across the TV screen, domestic goddess of the 70's. I am safe as safe can be, nestled in a box outside the city.
I am ten years old,
sun glows between the curtains,
storybooks are scattered
among after-school debrees.
Grandmother hums as
she breaks beans at the table.
Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse.