It becomes an escape
to a wilderness of wildflowers.
Though small, it has all
the space I could want.
When we bought the house
we freshened all the rooms
but this one. Why it waited
such a long time? I have no
In the end, I tackled this room,
(Excuse me, I’m multi-tasking
as I write this poem, watching
the mid-day news; retired but
still busy every hour of the day.)
Back to poetry and a small room.
When I tackled this room
I had such a short time frame
to get it completely freshened
while the family on holiday.
Plenty of sanding and preparing;
Painting. Exacting wallpaper,
fitting leaf to leaf, flower to flower.
The only tradesman required I called
in for the tiling. I stood back
and admired my handiwork,
smiles all over my dusty sweaty
face, Knowing that at the end
of my seventh decade, I’d done it,
Yeah, yeah, yeah. And wow, what
a struggle, climbing a ladder perched
in the bath, to get these two corners
completed. Yeah, but I did it.
And now, when I take a long lingering
soak in the bath, entertain my muse,
wander in a garden of wildflowers:
I’m spaced-out. No one mentions
the long time it took me to do this,
but hey I don’t care. I’m spaced-out.
Benita H. Kape © 25.4.2017
And now for our daily prompt (optional, as always). In 1958, the philosopher/critic Gaston Bachelard wrote a book called The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos. It could be the inside of a coin purse or the recesses of an umbrella stand. Any space will do – so long as it is small, definite, and meaningful to you