Today, I was thinking of the basement in the house I grew up in. We had our washer and dryer down there, and a TV, and a huge wooden desk my mom used for crafting. For a few years, she made wooden Christmas tree ornaments using a jigsaw and acrylic paint. The poem I wrote today was about that basement, how it frightened me when I was little, and how it smelled when my mom was at her work table.
"the crinkle of newspaper
being spread across a table, the smell
of dust and mildew, cigarette smoke, the sawdust
thick upon the air, softening the floor with its powder . . ."
Copyright Lesley Owens 2010
Dip Me in Honey and Bury Me Someplace Nice
1 year ago
4 comments:
Aww - I loved that huge wooden desk and yes, we spent many, many hours down in that basement!
Most times, you would wonder over from the TV and join me at the table, pick up some paint and a brush and do your very own creating or just play in the saw dust!
Was that cigarette always dangling from her lips too!!!
You and I are quite similar. Often, it is the smell of things that I recall more than anything else!
This poem reminds me of why I am still friends with your mother for thirty plus years!! My kids tell me they think of me when they smell a hot glue gun..aww memories.
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