All Tucked in on Galley Street

At night,

on Galley Street,

Granny buttoned up the house.

She locked both locks

and checked them twice

and pushed steel wool

in the crack under the basement door

to keep the mice away.

 

Then she checked on me.

"Warm enough?"

Always.

I slept on the couch,

tucked under the corduroy crazy quilt.

The grandfather clock stood guard.

Papaw and Granny slept in their room,

leaving the door open

in case I needed anything in the night.

 

I fell asleep to their synchronized snores,

his rumbling grumble and her whiffling snuffle.

Out back,

on the other side of the river,

a train whistle blew.

 

Just outside the glow of the porch light,

stories unfolded as I slept.

The next day,

I looked for them,

balancing on the cracked stone wall,

jumping over the drainage ditch.

 

I tasted stories in green apples

picked from my great grandfather's tree.

I read them

in the crisscrosses

of Granny's perfect embroidery stitches.
 

Galley Street was filled with stories,
and I collected them like shells, or stones, or feathers.
I kept them safe
until I was ready to share them
with the world.

Thanks to all of you who have visited Galley Street this month! If not for the Slice of Life Writing Challenge, I may not have taken the time to remember what a magical place Galley Street was for me as a child and is for me, now, as a writer. If not for Two Writing Teachers, I know I would not have had the opportunity to visit all the wonderful places in this neighborhood of readers and writers. I have learned so much, and I have had so much fun! Stop by Galley Street any time. You're always welcome.