Recreation//Recreation

All I wanted was my own room. My own door to hang a 'KEEP OUT' sign on. But losing that house, moving out of what I thought was forever, forced me to change; I started growing up.

Recreation//Recreation


For a time we could afford to let one house
have us 
for five years 
clinging
to the banister, a ladder
for sleeping bag sleds, the stairs: a slide,
a hill 
for the whole afternoon.

My own room had four windows,
a closet turned clubhouse, church clothes in the rafters,
KEEP OUT: signed, 
Your Older Brother.

My Room
had two-sided doorknobs: one glass crystal-cut facing the hall,
the inside knob, tarnished in the grease of skin-stuff.
I turned latch, I locked 
My Room.

One time, we found the backstairs 
encased in
pressboard renovation,
in broom-closet creation.

In the back of the house,
the drab door knobs of amber 
to be hidden, to not be 
shining,
maybe kept with brooms.
But for the face
to the hall, the doors held
diamonds on the outside
at hand.

My Own Room of light:
towards the river,
in Our house
in The Time 
before bankruptcy.
Before we couldn’t afford the first
restaurant.

The time we owned a house,
the time when we owned
Our House. 

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Dear friend,

It’s my last week of the semester before break. This Friday will be my last poem until January 20th.
I hope you are all well and taking care of yourself with cozy things and second chances.
There’s some quote about how there’s one story we’re always trying to write, and I think mine is about houses and the wonder I felt exploring one.

Chase the wonder everyone. Chase the happy.

-Sean

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