Curtains For Doors

The bedrooms in my childhood home had curtains for doors. And some nights, when I wake up terrified from a bad dream, I would walk to my parents' bedroom and simply swipe the curtain aside with my small hand.

Luckily, their bed used to be a little too long that I could make myself fit in the small space below their feet.

No pillow, no blanket, very little room for movement, yet all my nightmares stood no chance. I was in the presence of my mother and father now. No harm will ever reach me anymore.

—

Next to my father's grave are two more slots my mom had bought for the family. Come her death, she'll be buried next to my dad, and we'll be left to decide what happens to the third.

If my way goes, my siblings can have it. Or sell it should they decide to.

The grave I want is that below their feet anyway. For when I am tired and old and weary, what beautiful end it would be to come crawling onto the foot of my parents' bed and watch the curtain door sway into the long night.

I'll be in the presence of my mother and father now. No harm will ever reach me anymore.