Poetry

Rise Part II

A sun-kissed bedroom of my own
was what I desired most as a child.
Dad and I went and looked at this place once,
it was buried behind so much tamarisk brush
that I’d never had a good look at it
but o was it a beauty
and right next door it was

It was a place made for a dad and his little girl
one bedroom custom-made for a girl,
for me,
a loft with a low ceiling and
a small bed with a pale yellow quilt and
an eggshell desk under a sun roof
and too a square window looking east
toward the sunrise.

Out the window I could see the cabin where
we lived.
The cabin where I didn’t have my own bedroom
and never would because out front there was a pond and
out back there was a fence and a chicken coop ( no room
to expand)

I sent a smile down to my dad from the loft,
it said,
Pleeeaaaasssse Dad?
He, I noticed was scoping out the french doors, smiling

We never moved to the loft.
In my memory shall remain the flirty essence of
the place and what a woman-girl I felt like inside of it.
A bunch of dudes live there now, I see ’em when I visit dad.

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