Row after row
Of rusting metal shacks
Masquerading as homes
For the desperate,
Our trailer very much
Like the others…
The yellowing linoleum,
The dingy shag carpeting
That never came clean,
The claustrophobic brown
Of the cheap paneling
That oppressed joy
And consumed laughter.
Home was never a refuge,
Rather a prison to be escaped.
I would sit on the metal steps
Leaning back against
The dented white metal door
Until the grates wore grooves
Into the backs of my thighs,
Notebook in hand
Furiously trying to write
A happier ending
Than the trailer park promised.
~~~ This poem was written a prompt from Poetic Bloomings asking us to describe our childhood home as well as a prompt from Imaginary Garden with Real Toads asking us to describe a neighborhood where we lived.
9 comments:
Wow, Mary...you described the feelings that you had about your childhood home/neighborhood so well. It is good that you had your writing then as well, that you could write yourself a life somewhere away from the 'rusting metal.'
The claustrophobic brown
Of the cheap paneling
That oppressed joy
And consumed laughter.
tight description...that bit right there was enough for me to know it exactly...
I felt right at home here--not because of the trailer park, but because my formative years were in a 2 room apartment with 5 people. I opted not to write about that because I found it depressing, but your poem suddenly makes me want to talk about it--as if your experience released me somehow. Instead of the tiny metal steps though, I had a larger range--40 acres of wooded land that I wrote about in a poem called "Arcadia in the Catskills."
Those woods stimulated my imagination and helped shape my spiritual life.
Oh I so know about dingy carpets that never come clean and oppressive brown paneling..........have lived in a couple of trailers in my later years. I also so relate to writing furiously, as a teen, dreaming of happier tomorrows. Great writing, Mary. This one really spoke to me.
Great job painting the desperation housed in that trailer. I love the last four lines.
What a great write! This brought tears to my eyes, Mary. Memories so vivid, honest ..
Wonderfully written description. Concrete details and feelings.
So well condensed in your poem, whether auto- biographical or not: a tour de force.
Vivid description of a teenager's feelings, Mary. I could picture everything as I was reading. A super write.
K
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