Into the Fold (junk journal poems)
I’d play dress-up, Mother’s knee-length dress
a train behind me, hair, towel draped,
cotton locks heavy upon princess shoulders.
Winter-time, sister and I played for hours,
basement’s cement floor and unfinished walls
our oasis of make-believe; flower pots and quilts
our castle walls, magical gardens and forests
with friendly woodland creatures and moon fairies;
adventure as far as imagination could see.
Rarely made a mess, as we didn’t have much:
one toy chest full of mother’s fancy frocks
and two small shelves, one full of toys, the other books.
A wooden rocking-horse with chewed leather ear
and sparse yarn tail, our faithful companion.
I’d sit for hours, illustrations and words
memorized, chair overflowing with books
and cat. Poems of bluebirds and Bluebeard,
stories by Stevenson, Lewis, and a Land of Oz…
made me a dreamer, a seeker of solitaire,
an adult woman who easily slips into the fold
of a thought and gets lost for the better part of a day…
and I’m all the richer for it.
by Margaret Bednar, February 7, 2021
A quick google search and I found my faithful childhood steed:
This is linked with "The Sunday Muse #146" The image The Sunday Muse asked us to write to is "Natural Woman" Digital Collage Art "Covid Creations" by Susie Clevenger. I was also inspired by my postcard clipped in my junk journal.
Pocketed (junk journal poems)