https://www.angelfire.com/art2/dream/index.html
writegirl2000@hotmail.com
I never asked you for much. I was good at amusing myself and left you wide spaces of time and place.
I needed a few things to fill in my life. I needed a little house with a doorbell. A sunroom filled with light during those long, cold days of a North country winter, to keep away the sadness demons that creepy-crawl, the ones who are always trying to nest in my brain when it goes dark.
And my one true, if at all possible desire, was a pool. I would have been swimming, playing in the motherjuice, feeling weightless and bountiful, cutting through the water on every single day. That never happened. I gave up thinking about it a long time ago.
I never asked for a studio, when those less art-interested than me had fabulous workrooms. Me? I carved out my own space in every little trashpit we called home.
The doorbell? We had one here. It sang out that lovely ear-scratching, and oh so homey, ding-ding-dong, alerting me to people at my door. But one day you decided that the doorbell was causing some conflict with the bathroom light so you unwired it. Silence. Harsh knocking.
Occasionally, over the last 37 years, I have asked you about it...the doorbell. Could you reattach it? You never seemed to have time. In response to my last request you added that you no longer know which wire goes where and you don’t want to short out the whole house.
I have given you seven children and you can’t give me a doorbell?
You were the hot dog, the big cheese, the protector at work. Too bad you never considered home as worthy of your self.
Bad call.
Our children are now grown. And a little cottage on the lake now has my name on it. It has a doorbell. Don't ring it.
