The Safest Spaces

a poem dedicated to the spaces that have provided peace

The safest space (s)  are but are not limited to:

in a tent with my family 

vacation coziness wrapping us 

in sleeping bags and birdsong

tree shadows surround us

their limbs shake gently overhead, each leaf a dancer

wood smoke lingers in the air 

soft shuffles of feet outside the flap 

whispered quiet restroom marching

coals stoked and campfire coffee burbles 

tangled hair and dirty knees 

a marshmallow fleck still stuck to the crevice of my ring finger and pinky 

*

safe

in front of the pot-bellied stove of my childhood home

my dad plucking at his guitar strings

my mom setting her book down to check on the bacon crackling alongside apple pudding in the oven 

my sister’s warm body coming to curl next to mine, under a tunnel of blankets, our faces peeping out to stare into the orange flames that lick the glass door 

here we move slow

here we can be ourselves

*

safe

in Ryan’s arms 

I still ask him, at age 38, 

“won’t you come tuck me in?”

and he does

a weighted human blanket

layered in love 

helping ease my transition from 

busy day 

to quiet night

*

reading to my children

the vast worlds expand before us, 

carried by my voice 

their sweet feet bundled in a blanket

I rest as their hearts turn toward mine

and we find our way 

through this morning

this afternoon

this evening

guided by apostrophes, periods, questions

of all that is known

and unknown

Photo by Nima Sarram on Unsplash

This poem was inspired by Crystal Rowe, @everythingissacred, Soul Munchies on Substack.

Crystal offered an open invite for friends both near and far to come to write with her in November 2023, in a Virtual Gratitude Journaling Group, using Rupi Kar’s Writing Prompts. Thank you, Crystal, for the gift of that time + energy.