67000
it used to be my student desk
paper
typewriter and pen
this was when words were newly put together
jigsaw puzzle pieces on a cardboard plate
they spoke to me late in the night amidst black velvet posters
my black light illumination
sounds of classic R&B always helped me find the words to write
it was my space
my place
my haven
my escape
to record the experiences of the day
to hell with form and meter
I would write them my own way
bedroom door closed
everyone peacefully sleeping
there was no rush
I wrote 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
to the warmth of the rising morning sun
looking at all of the poems overnight
I had conceived
written
done
and so it finds me again
my space
the back corner of the basement
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 is right next to mine
global conference calls with her colleagues until well after nine
she glances at me
knowing full well what I am doing
my face pressed against the computer screen
it is still serene
my space is still sacred
words no longer new
puzzles easier to complete
headphones on my head
fuzzy slippers on my feet
and I wonder what happened to that old desk
the velvet posters
the black light
dad shoveled black coal into the basement furnace
keeping me warm
helping me to write
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
