Running up to my bedroom on second floor, I’d turn on the landing and pass through loft area with railing overlooking stairwell. I entered my private world with yellow walls that reflected sunlight, white furniture, and a small closet with loose doorknob. I flopped on the comfy double bed, knocking headboard against the wall, and fingered the bright patchwork quilt handmade by my maternal grandmother, tracing lines of my imagination. In this cheery space, I would draw or do homework at my small desk, listen to popular hits on the radio, and read my latest library stack in bed. Three shelves on the wall held treasures I’d crafted of decoupage, miniature paintings, marble mice and clay.
I opened my double hung window on summer nights to let breeze and neighbors’ voices through the screen. Sometimes I’d hear a siren passing nearby on a busier street or the pizza delivery guy come to the door (after my brother and I were to bed). I experienced both sweet dreams and frightful nightmares in that room, learned to pray, and fantasized about boys. Sometimes a best friend or two would sleep over and we’d talk and laugh until late. In the morning, my mom would open the stairway door so our miniature poodle, Jock, could scamper up carpeted steps and leap on bed to wake me.
city summer night…
fragrance of backyard lilacs
wafts into bedroom
Lillian invites us to write haibun of a childhood room, including a traditional haiku with kigo (seasonal) word and kireji (cutting) word/turn of idea. Read more at dVerse.
a poem in my pocket 