The Place Above the Stairs

There was once a place

where it all ceased,

the decibel elevation.

Matrimony turned sour relegated the boy

to take shelter

from the snowstorm of lost love.

But where to?

How can you come in from the cold

when you’re stuck

living in the house

in which the frigidity emanates from?

Thus he began his journey.

First he tried his room, door closed,

headphones blaring, to block them out.

It didn’t work.

Being within earshot of the insults and putdowns,

he still shivered with disappointment and hurt.

In the midst of a blizzard

created by adults quick to fire verbiage

dripping

with spite and recklessness,

their youngest and perhaps most sensitive of offspring,

realized refuge was tantamount to peace of mind.

A reprieve meant

no more

drafty

sleepless

nights.

In the span of a second it suddenly struck him

like a right hook from Tyson himself.

The place above the stairs!

Quiet enough to not hear

any of the parental back and forth,

far enough to pretend

he wasn’t even in the house.

Set on escaping the Antarctic conditions

of his current surroundings,

he made a beeline for the attic with only a blanket,

some M&M’s,

and his handheld Nintendo in tow.

Upon arrival, it began.

First his extremities warmed up.

Then gradually the increase in temperature

contributed to the reversal

of what was beginning to be

a frostbitten heart.

The Lakers blanket draped over his head

evoked the heat of a kerosene lamp

and felt like a warm embrace,

which ironically enough,

is all he was searching for in the first place.