a cold room in the garage
full of oil paints, half empty.
a smaller room made of glass,
it seems so magical to the daughter of a painter.
i peek through an eye-sized hole
in the rotten wood door.
daddy is moving long thin lights in there,
i’d never seen such lights in my five years alive.
“goddamnit”, he mumbles,
shuffling lights in and out.
he has a paint brush behind his ear,
an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
i always giggle when he curses,
for he sounds like he’s never said anything more important.
i cover my mouth quickly in fear of him finding me,
and to my relief, he does not.
the next item going into my wonderland
to my surprise, are plants.
they are smelly plants,
probably thirty of them.
after daddy locks the glass door to the glass room,
he is out of my sight for a minute.
and after that minute,
the hole i’m looking out of,
in the same rotten wood door,
swings open and i tumble over.
daddy looks at me in rage.
“hi daddy”.
daddy grunts.
“how’s my wonderland coming?”
“it’s coming. go play outside.”
and i do.
