Sunday, October 9, 2016

Art - Poetry

A Place to Hide

That summer I found places to hide
around the neighborhood.
The metal tubes stacked
at Grimes’ lot behind our house
was one of my favorites.
I sat in one on rainy days,
smelled the air,
and would not be bothered.

I hid under the stairway
and read comic books
in a neighbor's hall closet -
sneaked in the back door,
turned on the light,
and sat under jackets and coats
in privacy.

From the backseat floor
of Mom’s ‘41 Chevy,
with the window rolled down,
I watched ants crawl
over the top of pink and white peonies
that lined the driveway.

I found places to hide
so I could be alone,
I found places to hide
from father’s anger,
I found places to hide
where I listened
to what the rain had to tell me,
or the ants, 
or the peonies,

still my favorite flower.

- © Kathleen Matson 2005