POETRY Nancy Duci Denofio

Sharing Space

Crossed a linoleum floor
to a paisley spread,
newly weds
side by side in
separate beds - two
children shared a
heated room; one sucked her
thumb, one wet her bed.

His Uncles boots untied,
perched on a stool near
a metal sign - selling
old stuff, “Antiques,” he
said.

Cribs, pillows, and one old
blanket hangs to divide
a living space; his new
family all crammed
into one room -
Is this their honeymoon?

“Stay put, lots of space
right here, near the beach,”
his Uncle John tugged on
a sunburned arm.

Many a night we slept
on wet sand, when youth
was on our side, and
traveled long, counted
pennies for food – but
this place should be torn
down, for the sake of
the two children, asleep
with toes sticking out of
a rail of a crib.

Eighteen wheelers
cruised the beach road
at night - going some
eighty miles per hour,
scared to shut your
eyes, as head lights
beamed into the room.

By morning light, while
pelicans were playing on
a dock – feet tip toed
passed the hanging blanket;
heard a couple snore, and
glanced at two children
sharing a crib: sheets
the smell of urine.

Left paisley spreads and
separate beds, newly weds,
and children sharing one
small crib – in one room
among antiques, on a
beach.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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