• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 06

One Room School House

Nightly dreams dance with memories of years prior. Childhood homes and houses
of learning cycle in rhythmic form. Warm broth in plastic bowl lunches. Buttery
noodle dinners. Breakfasts of cereal cartons and gulps by the handful. Recipes inked
on lined paper stained of onion tear drops. High pitched voices float. Tired muscles
relax as eyes closes. Crimson toes uncurl as memories unravel and grip a pulse at rest.

The single wood door hosted a single metal latch –
a slider, not unlike the scale in the common galley
kitchen. Measures and metrics for most all behaviors
and deeds – both good and bad. A pinch of salt, a dash
of pepper. Seasoning to suit all tastes.

Behind the single wood door grew a single room
schoolhouse – a safe haven, not unlike the cupboards
stocked with broth, rice, and beans in the common
kitchen. Boxes and cartons for most all residents
and visitors – both new and old. A dose of savory,
a helping of sweet. Flavors to suit all tastes.

Above the single room schoolhouse lay a v-shaped
red shingle roof. A proud perch – distinctive – a lookout
for red robins, common finches, and types unknown,
not unlike the kitchen ceiling beams, home to farmhouse
spiders, black ant armies, and dust balls – both friend and foe.
Thick scraps of splintered wood, thin slivers of plaster.
Bottoms rest. Eyes close. Seat widths to suit all needs.


One Room School House

Nestled in a blanket of sycamore, evergreen, birch, and maple.
Weeping willows, too. Soft winds, gentle cries, daily tears of joy –
all flutter, fly, and fall by the school house window – as farm,
schoolyard, and house bells ring and roll – sweet tones of song –
chant harmonies as high notes blend, mingle, then fuse in blessing –
feeding through tone and lyric – young minds within.

Still tired body stretches and turns. Arms rise, then fall. Drape cot
of factory mold. Sun rises in the East as six AM alarm bell blares.
Guards whistle. Some roar. Clink, Clank, Ding. Dawn of a new day.
Shoulders shrug as warm blankets of nighttime dreams flounder.
Endless time – simultaneously structured and unstructured – unfolds
realities stark in contrast to the fancy of time past. Footsteps retrace
softly molded steps of a day prior. Right. Left. Right.
Only Right. Always Forward. Until the night.