Secret Place

Chris Ellery

May 29, 2022

Some days in my childhood

I needed no one to find me. 

Some of those days, I could slip away

as soon as I was dead, 

raise the old door that covered the hole 

in the brick foundation, 

squirm under, 

and shut it behind me.

Outside there were things to be done.

There were parents.

There were warnings

and expectations and big 

brothers running about

killing, killing

zombies, headhunters, heretics, 

outlaws, Indians, jerries and gooks.

They always killed me first, 

the littlest one,

and in the thrill of their game,

paid me no mind when I slipped away. 

Under the house it was cool and still.

Bricks muffled the guns and grenades.

There were spiders and mice, 

a dusty wood smell, darkness 

spelled by slivers of light 

passing through chinks in the brick.

There was watchful, watery peace

something like sleep.

Chris Ellery of San Angelo is a frequent contributor to and avid reader of TPA.