read write prompt #112, the narrative wallpaper by Dave Jarecki
This week Dave encourages us to find the “narrative wallpaper” that resides in our homes or memory. (Here, my childhood room.)
(Read the RWP prompt for full descriptive details.)
(Read other participants responses to this prompt.)
Cowboys and horses
A loaf of stale bread might have complained
about the size of that room. Stiff enough not
to shape itself between bed and dresser, and
no, don’t open that door or away goes half
the room. Good thing infants grow into
small children first. Filled wall-to-wall.
Mama possum under the floor.
Big enough though for cowboys and their
horses to stand, contemplate the western
life, rest upon those bedroom walls. Well,
one wall anyway. Beside the brown round
metal-framed bed. Your head could fall
into strangled sleep pressed atop that lower
rail. Reading H.G. Wells page by page.
Small spaces make dangerous games.
And there three feet behind, that old double
hung sash window, facing right onto the lawn
and not green big wide street, the one in
town that never floods! It was built for trucks.
But filled with more mystery of destinations
undone, path for the Greyhound buses and
those wonderful diesel fumes. Smells do
have lips, tales to tell. And see, they lead
right here, fifty years away!
Neil Reid © February 2010
bearly audible 
This is just fantastic…….great one Neil………….the room might have been small but your dreams were big size….
Well we know something about what pleases you, don’t we Dad! (Ha! Even if I’m a year older than you!)
Thanks Sean. You are always generous!
Neil, You’ve built a strong sense of child’s play and I really like ‘the mystery of destinations’. Thanks for showing me the room.
Ha! And there’s even room for two, if you stand just right there! I exaggerate a bit, but not much. Like living in a sock drawer of sorts, but it never seemed “small” to me till much later, after I’d left of course. Thanks Irene.
That H G Wells has a lot to answer for. Now if you were
reading the Tin Tin book or Biggles things might have turned out differently. Diesel sniffing is a no no!
Well, that was a long time before anyone said that was a no-no you understand. Now it’s sort of RP-1 jet fuel that’s taken its place. Is that bad? Thanks for the visit!
Hi Neil,
This is lovely and took me back to my own small room (everyone has a boxroom) although the wallpaper is a blur and wasn’t for a child particularly! I love
“Your head could fall/into strangled sleep”.
Thank you Derrick. (And that reference was literal. Somehow leaning back that way reading a book pinched the flow of blood till I real and true got drowsy. Yikes! I was dumb sometimes. Kids!)
That ending was so wonderful…
Loved the childhood memories put to words…very nice.
Thank you Cynthia. I appreciate your visit.
Neil, I like the way your poem, confined as it is to a child’s narrow room, opens into the world, reflecting the way the child grows from the small world of childhood into the great expanse of adulthood. All roads lead to now.
Very nice. And a very enjoyable read.
Thank you Paul. Yea, that was exactly the movement as it came to my eye, although not exactly planned, but just the way we naturally move anyway. Thanks again.
I like this. You helped me crawl back into childhood for this poem. You cut from the size of the room, to the walls, to the bed, and then to the window. Vivid and descriptive, yet in such a small space. Kinda like your room.
This reminded me of a room that I slept in when I was twelve, when we visited some relatives in Southern Ohio. One of my aunts had a trailer, and you could easily smell the diesel from the window of that bedroom.
My favourite line has to be “Small spaces make dangerous games.”
Good work this week.
-Nicole
Thanks Nicole. I am only glad if this invoked something vivid from your own memory. Ha! And “crawl back into childhood”, I like that phrasing too, as crawl can really step way back into a moment.
Hmm… here’s a question. What is your very first conscious memory? (Not expecting memory = truth, but just you know, whatever we think it is. Maybe that would be a prompt for another day?)
My favorite bit is “contemplate the western life” which is both the adult looking back, a little slyly, and a true memory (for me).
Thank you Barbara. Well yes, I wouldn’t then have known that word, but think I understood the notion, “to stand and look” I might have said. Interesting observation. Thanks.
(Hmm… to write a childhood memory and using only the terms from that point of view in time. Might be an interesting challenge?)
Nice! Life was smaller and dreams were bigger, then.
Thank you. There is a quality of youth to appreciate, certainly. Yet most, in how it reflects, sweetly into current life.
Very nice! Great imagery here.
Pamela
Thank you Pamela!
Good poems open up memory. And how you remind me of reading books in the closet–where no one could see me and no one could disturb me. Of reading under the covers or playing in cardboard boxes. Kids do like cubby holes and this came across quite well in your poem.
Thank you Marian. Do you suppose we still play in boxes, just bigger and more invisible now? I am grateful for a childhood that began a life with books to read and wonder…
I loved “Small spaces make dangerous games.” Sums up the whole of the poem to my read, anyway.
Well done!
Thank you Deb! Always a place here for you!
Nicely done Neil….back to our youth…bedrooms…wonderfullllllllllllllllll memories for this kid…thanks for sharing this
Thanks Wayne. (And we’re not even to Peter Pan nor Treasure Island yet!)
Thank you, I enjoyed reading your poem. Yes, they were small rooms, and we were greatly inflenced by those stories – especially H.G.Wells “Small spaces make dangerous games.” Wonderful to slip back to childhood’s best parts like this.
Thank you Wanda! Nice to welcome you here!
Nice; I like the road with fumes that come back 50 years. It means you know something–really know it. Thanks.
Thank you Allan. Thanks for visiting!