Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Day#5 - Basement Beatitudes

Basement Beatitudes

Chapter 1 Verse 1

Sitting on a milk crate in the basement, sipping on amber
through a haze of first hand smoke and second hand clothes.
The furnace kicks on and breathes life into gaudy boas of
tinsel,metallic caterpillars that snaked through artificial
evergreen and heirloom ornaments of brittle colored glass,
remnants of holidays past. Under the stairs sits the four foot
tall lawn Santa I used to dance with and sing to, in front of
the smoky mirror, practicing “Star Love” endlessly for the
Gong Show. Surely if Cheryl Lynn could do it, so could I.

Chapter 1 Verse 2

My back rests against the cool deep freezer, Depression era hope
chest. It hold mostly unrecognizable lumps of frost and ice
crystals now, no more Eastern Market bounty or leftover
family reunion cake. The top won’t stand up by itself anymore
from late night covert phone call missions, and the tension of
awkward straps and buttons being tugged loose. We accommodated
our curiosity as only the young can, by doing. Smoking cigarettes
and spitting in the wash tub, we made up dance routines to Ashford
and Simpson. There was no stopping us.

Chapter 1 Verse 3

In a dry cleaners bag are carefully wrapped sprigs of baby’s
breath, dried from weddings gone by. Marriages that have since
died long slow deaths from anniversary to anniversary. The
shelves are stacked with muffin tins and crockery that used to
centerpiece family dinners. On a nail in the wall hang my
roller skates, the pom-poms disintegrating into a burgundy dust.
(My pom-poms matched my wheels, which was about as good
as it got at Northland Roller Rink.) I discovered the hard way,
that I’m no good at skating backwards.

No comments: