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Delaine Litman


In my wandering mind I am a child again. Happy and safe,
In the one place I can be,
At the old house.
At her house.

Playing games,
Hiding behind beautiful, long skirts
In the big closet.
Fancy hats swallow my head.
The smell of Chantilly filled the darkness.

Safe in her room.
A jar of old buttons scattered on her bed.
Sun beams through wide slats
Of wooden venetian blinds,
While the sheer white curtains cavort in the breeze.

The room is alive with her smell.
Soft and sweet is the perfume,
Like her.
This kind and gentle lady who loved me so, Knew how much I love her.