My Refuge

I learned to dream, and create.

Victoria Aleksandrova @ unsplash

My bottom bunk

My refuge

As a 9-year-old

This was my tent, my fort

With blankets tucked into the mattress of the top bunk

Surrounding me with walls

This was my hiding place

Where I could converse with my dolls

Be their mommy, their teacher, their nurse

I learned to nurture

As a 12-year old

It was a space for me to read

John Steinbeck”s “The Pearl”

Daniel Keyes’ “Flowers For Algernon”

And learn to play the ukulele

“Five foot two, eyes of blue

But oh what those blue eyes could do”

I learned to dream, and create

As a 15-year-old

It was a place to listen to music

The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel

Mamas and Papas, Peter, Paul and Mary

I Played my guitar, and sang my heart out

To my stuffed animals, and the mirror

I joined a folk band

I learned to bloom

As a 16-year old

It was my place to write

In my diary, in my notebook

I wrote poetry, pouring out my angst

I wrote a song for social justice

I wrote notes to my boyfriend

I learned to use words, in a way I never had

I learned what was inside of me

As an 18-year old, I said good-bye

To my bottom bunk

I was a married woman, now

And everything I needed

Was before me

The space in which I had grown

Is a memory now

One that lives on in this poem

Sharon Hudson 2025