Christmas Came Early One Spring

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