All my toys scattered, bruised, and broken are
Worn from years of play.
Every time I pick them up, they groan helplessly,
Begging me, “Please no more play.” I put them down to play with tomorrow.
Finally, tired of my toys, I clean them up and put them away. I walk into the big white space,
leaving behind my room, comforted by a soft glow.
A Child’s room, now forever empty. A feeling of dread squeezes tight. I won’t let go, grasping.
Tighter and tighter. From somewhere below, a little voice cries, echoing sadly on to a room never walked in again.
Guest poet. Granddaughter Lillie Sandidge, age 13