My sister Pat’s bed, in her words:
date of writing, or reason, unknown
“At the lake my cot on the porch
was just outside the door of the
living room against the window.
It fitted exactly and aesthetically
into the space allotted. There was
a feeling of security there, the
window with its shade down and
light shining a wee bit through the
crack and I knowing Mother, Dad,
maybe some adult friends were
reading or playing cards on the
other side of the wall. My paper
dolls on the wall, my Oz books
under my bed, my “ten” blankets
piled over me on cold nights (did
Mom think I’d suffocate?) Even now
when I am weighted with worries and
have trouble getting to sleep all I need
do is imagine myself in my lake bed
listening to the lap of waves on the shore
and acorns dropping on the porch roof
and my troubles are instantly dissolved.”
2023 Jacqueline Jackson
This article appears in Cash bail comes to an end.
