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