Shontay Luna
The fiberglass bedspread that was pink with a raised,
white floral design. Earliest lesson; avoid skin contact
with it at all costs.
Speckled blue-green carpet of the hallway stairs leading to
the second floor. The curve to the landing residing under
a window that never had a curtain. The view of neighboring
houses lining up in the Eastern view.
In my Grandmother’s bedroom, the short pale wooded
headboard to the full-sized bed. Covered shelving on the
sides; open shelving home to a small white teddy bear,
fake flowers and black and whites of people I didn’t
know.
On top sat a beige wood sided radio with a small dial
travelling over crackly stations. I’d listen to Radio
Mystery Theatre right before bed. But now, I realize
I probably shouldn’t have.
On the metal shelving to the left of her bed sat her
navy blue vinyl jewelry box with a velvet interior.
To watch her open it a real treat, I don’t think she
knew it was the first treasure chest I’d ever seen.
Upon the low matching dresser sitting in front of
the bed, was her silver brush and hand mirror.
Ornate in floral design and perpetually heavy in my
small hands. Though, in later years she’d get a lighted
mirror – the small one she’d use the most. The lighted
one was wide with different shades to resemble day
and night; casual and formal.
I don’t know which I find odder; the things that
escape me or the things I remember.
Poem Shontay Luna
