loosing my red wooden steps at nautilus teachings


1973-The end of summer brings smiles to my parents faces with a new job for Dad and the purchase of their first home.
We all have to move. We have to leave our friends, our home, Bishops Park, my safe haven under the steps and all my corners. My brothers are furious and screaming at my mom and dad all the time. They fight every one they come across.
I sit in my corner
and quietly cry
knowing I will never
use watercolors again.
I am not a watercolor girl,
but a vibrant,
periwinkle lilac
with an apple green stem.
I will stand strong
and tall
and shout to the world,
“here I am, look at me”
Even if it is from
a corner somewhere else.
I know
with God walking with me
and my palette of colors
from under the red, wooden steps,
I will miss
my underwater world in the closet,
but it is time to leave it behind.
The question is
2010-Studio-A ripple of laughter, love and millions of my mothers smiles fill me with great joy. I believe into every persons life a little “Wiggly Giggle Room” must fall.


1973-Summer-My mom gets a job even though my dad does not want her to. I can hear their arguments through their bedroom door. Yet, every morning my mom will get up and put on these “bookend” outfits as I call them. They are stuffy and quiet like a library encyclopedia. Her makeup is different too. Her eyeshadow is no longer robins egg blue, but fudge brown and her lips have this burgundy color on them that make her look all serious. It makes her look like a sad watercolor painting or a stark black and white photo-cold, bleak and no feeling. Gone is the “silver bullet” cool convertible with valentine red leather seats and black canvas top. In it’s place is a bluebell station wagon.
hops behind the wheel
waves goodbye
and the end
of my childhood
has begun.
I hate this house. It’s unfinished and our stuff looks misplaced here. It’s like putting goodwill furniture in the Buckingham Palace. The house is unfinished-no carpet, grass, trim, paint…The ceilings are high and there is a metal fireplace with no brick around it. It’s like we stepped into a womb and are watching a baby develop. We don’t know what color hair or eyes, but we know one day we will have a celebration of completion. Our old t.v. stands alone next to the faded asparagus and green tweed sofa. The sofa has worn patches & burn spots from dropped cigarettes.
The sofa bed,
tucked so neatly
with the memory
nubby headed demons
Who stole my innocence,
so long ago.
I hate this sofa and the memories. This is a new house, it should be clean and have no bad memories, but “where ever I go, there I am.” I walk into my room and plop down. I do not move all day but sit in a corner with my thoughts trying to find a palette to begin a new life with. I hear a beeping of a car horn. I glance out of the window which is framed in a soft honey brown wood and I see my mom.
“Mommy!”, I scream and run to her arms as she squeezes me tight.
“Hi Sheri. What did you do today?” she asks.
I hang me head and cry. I open my peach lips and mumble, “Waited for you, I didn’t know what to do without you.”
It was then I cry harder and my mom puts those warm arms around me and holds tight. She strokes my tangled, spider webbed, sandy hair and says in the softest of voices,
“Dearheart, you have to find friends. You have to get on your bike and ride around the neighborhood and look for little girls your age. You say, “hi”, and ask them to play. That’s how you will find a friend.”
“No mommy, no. I can’t! I am too scared, what if they are mean?”
“Oh, Sheri…”