Another Morning

The sun poured through the window of my attic room,
      shafts of sunlight- spotlights on the wood floor;
I got out of bed to soak up the morning sunlight,
            and placed my doll on the window ledge-
while I went to wash my face- comb my long dark hair,
      I quickly dressed in jeans and a t-shirt . . . 

I climbed down the steep stairs to the kitchen,
     grandma was already asleep in her rocker- snoring;
mother put a bowl of cereal on the table and milk,
         (she didn't smile- she never did anymore)
all she said to me was, "get that doll off the table!"

I quickly finished and grabbed my pink backpack,
      I put doll inside and walked slowly down the street;
to the park where ducks drifted on a silent pond,
           I had some bread from my supper last night.
Then, I went to the church and opened the ornate door,
      going quietly past huge columns to the chapel;
I had a nickel-  I had found and so I lit one small candle,
            for my sister, whispering, I miss you Susie . . . 

I followed a secret path in the forest to my special place,
       leaning up against an old tree and taking out my doll;
my pencil, my paper and began to write but stopped-
            as tears fell from my lonely eyes . . . 

       there is still a lot of that little girl inside me . . . 

______________________________
March 5, 2017

Poetry/Narrative/Another Morning 
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 882-210-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudony.


Submitted to the, March 2017 Premier Contest 
Sponsor, Brian Strand

Sixth Place

childhoodnarrative

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