When I was very small <br />A load of plywood and two by fours <br />Showed up in our back yard. <br />I was told it was for a play house <br />It began to dawn on me there was only one person <br />Who was the right size for a play sized house: <br />How could it be- surely they would soon notice <br />How utterly spoiled I was; realize their error, <br />Take the wood back, and give up the plan. <br />But my secret was safe with me. <br /> <br />Speedily the little house grew from a few studs <br />Until there was no doubt about it <br />With a ground plan equal to one sheet of plywood <br />It was sized just right for me, the resident munchkin <br />There was a little sink, with removable plastic camp tub <br />So I could have a dish sink or a laundry wash <br />Whatever imagination called for that day, <br />And little shelves for dishes. <br />Another shelf for whatnots, and they said <br />I could move in my doll furniture, table and chairs <br />Soon as they got the linoleum put down. <br /> <br />For people who survived the depression <br />The idea of building a small house just for play <br />Would seem to have been an alien concept <br />I think they decided I should have everything <br />Simply because they had had nothing <br />I reaped the benefit of their lack <br />Not because I was wonderful or especially deserving <br />It was because they were endlessly self sacrificing <br />I could have lived on that love alone, the rest of my life. <br /> <br />But what a first day, to sit alone in my own little space <br />With that overwhelming smell of fresh cut wood <br />Each time I opened that little door my imagination was stoked: <br /> <br />The play house became a home for dolls; <br />A pint sized library, to read and write poems and stories <br />A little white schoolhouse for pretend class <br />A hide out from the world to stay off other people's nerves <br />A clubhouse for displaced teenagers <br />An intelligence base for spies making up secret codes <br />To this day, the smell of new wood is an aphrodisiac: <br />A burning balsam pyre to extract my creative juices.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-came-early-one-spring/
