It’s 3:00 o'clock,
Time for the cave
My son’s bunk bed,
The lower, my rented space
For one hour

Dark down here, cozy respite
Thin mattress on wood slats.
The bed my dad built
Cradles me to dreamcalm

As does the musty boy smell
Of dirty socks, sweaty shirts,
Damp bathing suits, strange experiments
In Kirkland water bottles, calcified pebbles
from the American River in Strawberry,
The old carpet blanketed with old “Smokey’s” dog hair,
sand from the park, dust from muddy shoes

I’m hypnotized by the sounds of fat mouse
Spinning on her wheel, cht, cht, cht, cht, cht
Sweet , brown “Furry,” who first peeked
Up at me from inside a paper bag,
Our accidental pet
He begged me not to feed to

The snake, “Sylvie,” shiny, slithering
Golden Goddess of muscle and circles
She brings me peace from an
odorless, soundless place,
Somehow, bewitched kin
Speaking to my deepest
Wish, to sleep off this big meal

08/16/2006

Author's Note: RIP, FURRY! You live in our hearts, always, and in our backyard, in the pet graveyard :( where Jordan and I visit you. We miss your squeaky breaths, the way you squinted your eyes when we petted you, and most of all, how cute you were after a bath, teeny tiny shivers with matted fur!! We love you, Fur Fur Fur!!!!! d My first memoir piece in a long time.�..We are all upside down, especially the dog! Room by room, our 22 year old carpet�s been ripped up, and this great gal has been refinishing the gorgeous, 50 year old red oak underneath�....this week, it�s the master bedroom. The bed, and all the other furniture, is in the living room, where my kids watch tv while I take my daily catnap with the little critters in the last room that is just NOT clean�I now find the carpet to be a disgusting, mold filled allergy hell, and I�ve never slept better since it�s been gone�but, in my son�s room, it doesn�t bother me when I�m ready for my cave time� the boy stuff. The animals. It�s all good�we�re even talking about getting a pair of box turtles.

Posted on 08/16/2006
Copyright © 2025 Leslie Ann Eisenberg