My mom believed her daughters were safe

in a house filled with friends

An unlocked side door became an opening

to the cellar stairs 

where the neighborhood kids just walked in.

 

The basement was a club house

filled with homemade ice tea and cookies,

a record player of Motown tunes, then mostly Dylan hits,

board games like Monopoly and Risk,

Chess for the captain players who thought a lot,

a dance floor for the girls.

 

Painted pink and gray 

this place reserved its future space

in all our minds until this very day,

our sanctuary of sorts, 

like a most fitting Dylan song-

‘Shelter From The Storm’

 

On this one day in April everyone came in

as the rain pounded the streets.

The alleyway turned into a flood zone.

The handle to the side door broke,

so we took turns to open it.

 

Thunder startled us,

so loud we jumped out of our shoes

laughing at ourselves, hiding

our teenage cowardice 

inside uncontrolled giggles 

as we held each other close.

 

The lightning pierced through us,

surrounding all the windows at once.

Lighting up the pink walls, 

as it traveled around the house,

leaving a ghostly spotlight in our eyes.

 

I was the first to challenge it.

To dare it’s menace on our home,

with foolish adolescent bravery 

I ran up the stairs to the door, 

standing behind the glass window 

looking eye to eye at the storm.

 

There were at least four of us 

at that aluminum door,

mesmerized by the furious beauty

of wind, rain, thunder, lightning, powerful

fear.

 

When the bolt hit the window’s frame

we jumped the entire flight of stairs. 

Closest I ever came to being zapped

out of existence, fried forever in one second

by a force in nature not to be denied.

 

We recovered in the comfort of friends

who helped us catch our breaths,

giving us some fresh brewed, cold ice tea, 

never mentioning our stupidity or tears.

 

A definite memory of the club house years.