That place
in Corvallis
Must have
been a dive
Though it
was probably called rustic
An old,
tiny odd house
But I
loved it there
I was five
or six and oblivious
To the
obvious flaws
Apparent
to more discerning eyes
Those were
the selling points
In
my young world
All except
the huge hole
In the
floor of the mud room
I was
certain a terrible fate
Lingered
in the dark recesses
Romped and
roamed in the crawlspace
Thought I
saw a furry beast or two
Pop
their head out and wink
Not quite
human it was
But
not all beast either
I would
run by with wary eye
On my way
to the better place
The small
yard, overgrown and magical
It must
have been old
I
remember flowers and vines
And the
whole back fence
Covered in
blackberry bushes
That
I gorged myself on
Whenever I got the chance
Indifferent
to the scrapes
From
jealous vines
Reticent
to release the bumpy black fruit
If it was
raining I was stuck inside
Left with
limited options
To
entertain myself
Tormenting
my sister was a favorite
Until we
would get separated
Alone, I
would play with the ancient radiator
I used to
lay my scraggly blond head
Against the
cast iron tubes
Until
I smelled burning
Then I’d grasp
the clump of singed hair
Now
curly and orange
Fascinated
by the transformation
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