65200
It used to be my student desk
with paper
typewriter and pen
this was when
words were newly put together
jigsaw puzzle pieces on a cardboard plate
they talked to me late at night
amidst black velvet posters and my bulb of black light
sounds of classic R&B
always helped me find the words to write
It was my space
my place
my haven of escape to record the experiences of the day
to hell with form and meter
i would write them my own way
with my bedroom door closed and everyone peacefully sleeping
there was no rush
i write about every girl i had a crush on
and there were indeed many names
the excitement i felt
attending our high school football games
and i am surprised dad never barged in
my typewriter keys working in overdrive
sometimes slumber found me
and i would wake up at five
wake up to the morning sun
looking at all of the poems overnight
i had conceived, written and done
and so it finds me again
my space
the back corner of the basement is my sacred place to start anew
white brick walls surround me
my old bedroom wall was painted light blue
but i must write quietly these days
her space right next to mine
global conference calls with her colleagues until well after nine
she glances at me
knowing full well what i doing with my face pressed against my screen
it is still serene
my space
is still sacred
words are no longer new and puzzles easier to complete
my headphones are on
fuzzy slippers on my feet
i wonder what happened to that old desk
the velvet posters and black light
black coal shoveled into the basement furnace keeping me warm
helping me to write
and the old folders and papers kept
those words from the blue room
too shy to share to the subjects of intent at school
written words at that time
my tool
my release
my space
my place to be me
yesterday
today
and permanently
