The den

Heavy with books
The walls sang
With the smell
Of old paper
And love
And imagination

The two dimensional deer
Watched on
Placid
Quiet
Vacant

Guns and bows
Gun oil and black powder
And the musty red leather smell
Of the barrel chair
Stuffed with
Unread and outdated
Redbook, better homes and lady’s home journal

And above it all
The cups
The mugs
The untold stories
I always wondered about

Recliner empty
Full of memories
Pencil shavings
And scoring an orange
I close my eyes
And play beneath
The cradle
The bible
The shelves

Memories

I pour the cream
Into the dark brown memories
It swirls into the dreams of my childhood
I am five
pouring milk
on daddy’s knee
into his coffee
I see the clouds
I remember
The cups that line my cupboards
Fill the shelves
remind me
of who I am
where I came from
The coffee clouds
bring back Old Spice
Open Kitchen Windows
and heavy cast off diner cups
instant coffee
and thick real, cream separated, milk