napowrimo #2: after an italian furniture exhibit, for a friend named after a city in italy

when i was young
eight... no, seven
my bedroom cupboard was a thing
not just a purpose served
i'd climb inside, close the door
and believed no one would look for me
let alone find me there

i sometimes took short naps
while inside
and dreamt of open fields
cupboard fields
many cupboards, row upon row
upright like wheat stalks
and brown, for i had not discovered colored furniture yet

every time i was found inside
my mother's hand interrupting the darkness
would enter my dream just before it shook me awake
open the door of every cupboard
inside each one
a different little girl
deep in slumber

(read write poem)