The Drawer
In Your Bones, Poem 2
“My drawer was a rug of Grandma’s twisted quilts that lay safely between the cushion of twin beds…”
The inspiration for this poem…
This poem grew out of a comment made by a childhood friend who was reminiscing about the “goodie” drawer in our house. I was so shocked by there being anything in my life someone else might envy. It made me think of the masquerade we often create that all is well, or that others create about us. However, it also gave me a newfound appreciation for parents who seemed ill-equipped to parent but had the common sense to not try and keep us from at least some of the “goodies” in life. The freedom of that drawer had to have contributed to all of my siblings and I loving good healthy food over junk. I made sure to have just such a drawer in my house when I had a child of my own!
When I tried to think of a place in my life that would be as intriguing or comforting to me as that drawer represented to my friend my first thought was the place on the floor of my room between twin beds where I began to write. It was a place that held me, like a drawer can hold our dreams. The real heart of the poem is found in how, in spite of a lot of sadness and isolation, I found a safe and comforting place for myself. It was the place I returned to time and again for help and for joy. It was the place where my silent rebellion began.
The metaphor of a drawer holds so much potential which is why this poem has evoked more feedback and writing prompts than perhaps any other. It has also been a useful springboard for meditation.
Writing/Meditation Prompts:
Think about drawers that hold newborn babies, surprises, and things we need. What is a “drawer” like that for you that offers safety, hope, comfort, and/or even joy?
They can also hold junk and secrets. Is there a drawer you need to clean out?
Perhaps there is someone who is like a drawer offering you safe harbor. Do you offer a safe (hopeful, comforting, joyful) place for yourself? If not, how can you moving forward?
Has anyone ever been jealous of something you have or are? How has that felt, especially if that image was not real? What are you jealous of in others? Why?
Is there anything new to be grateful for even in a dark or unexplored place?
Is there someone you want or need to share this with? Keep in mind that when you reread your writing you are sharing it with yourself, again.