On My Every Wall

Written by: Andrea Dietrich

My spirit resides in a small family’s home. I serve to divide up the rooms of that place. I haven’t got legs; therefore, I can’t roam. I guess what they see of me there is my face. . . a surface, which smooth, is painted beige-white. No ears do I have, and yet I hear all. No eyes, yet I see everything day and night. No lungs, yet I breathe; I am every wall. When holidays come, I inhale such delight: the sweet scent of cinnamon and fresh baked bread. I love it when sun through the drapes casts its light, and also I’m warmed hearing everything said . . . and sounds of the children laughing with glee, the soft sounds of love making from their folks’ room and their music, when played, which permeates me, dispelling those lonely times I feel such gloom. . . . for there was a time the kids colored on me. Their mother got angry, but all I recall is how small hands scribbled on me eagerly. Now I long for their touch on my every wall!