In the basement

I swung from the light cord,

that hung low, and swept the floor.

It’s in front of the balance beam I flipped off of,

before Mom could see and yell,

“Get off the couch!”

 

My fort lay in the corner.

I had to defend it

from those who would recycle 

what they could only see to be a box.

Paper snowflakes covered the walls in the winter

Paper flowers hung from the ceiling in the summer

 

Hours spent there and in my own imagination,

until Mom called for dinner.

My sanctuary from homework time,

My clubhouse.

My place.

But others soon beckoned.

 

No longer would Mom call down that it was dinner.

Instead were texts:

“Be home by six.”

The balance beam, the light cord, the fort,

All distant memories,

far from my mind,

as new pursuits, new adventures,

commanded my attention,

as I ventured farther and farther from home.