Gotta Go, Gotta Go (poem) by Marlena Brabson Beal on AuthorsDen

Gotta Go, Gotta Go
by Marlena Brabson Beal → (All Poetry by Marlena Brabson Beal)
Rated "G" by the Author.

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Growing up in rural East TN in the 50's and 60's, indoor plumbing was considered a luxury outside the kitchen. Late night runs were scary for a kid. My pen and ink drawing above, "Night Stroll", is reminicent of those nights.

GOTTA GO, GOTTA GO As I lie awake in my bed, all is quiet, the world is asleep, Next to me, my sister’s breath, soft and easy so close to my head, The cricket hums his nightly cord; from where it comes I cannot tell, He beckons find me, find me if you can, outside--or am I in, A restlessness has wakened me, it won’t go away, Gotta go, gotta go. So, for awhile I’ll just lie and wait, unwilling to move, Watching the stars through a crack in our ceiling, They blanket the endless dark sky like a great big canvas, The big dipper, the little dipper; such wonders I see yet far, far away, Listening to the thump, thump--my heart against the bed, A small quiet noise, so loud inside my head, Gotta go, gotta go. Now I’m up on this cold linoleum floor, abandoning my sleep, chilling my feet, Snatching a shirt, grabbing a shoe, dressing in haste least urgent time I lose, Quietly I step, not disturbing the sleeping, no one has wakened to see me leaving, Out the door to face winter’s breath; tip toe, tip toe into the black night’s chill, Gotta to, gotta go! Standing on the porch, too cold for spiders--even the dogs don’t notice, Hidden under the porch, the unfinished cellar, a scary dark hole, Boards creaking, the night is heavy with the sounds of my leaving, Across the yard pass the old deep well, the stalker of my nightmares, Its endless dank smell on sinking ground, broken bricks chipping away, Always afraid of falling and falling into that black hole should I get too near, Gotta go, gotta go! Stepping across a well worn path from busy feet and playful fun, Again one more time, nothing there but darkness and time, The old black rooster on the doghouse squats, buried deep in the warmth of his wing, He ignores my passing, no dog, only me, And across the field, I’m almost there, my heart beats faster, I’m struggling for air, Gotta go, gotta go! Pass the woodpile, a scuttle did I hear and over the sinkhole I jump in fear, No street lights or candles, this moonless night, safely guide my feet Just old familiar paths, well trod and played, many days gone by etched on my mind, The breeze stops, my breath hangs like frosted clouds in the cold, cold air, My body shivers but not from the cold, it is fear so close, I’m finally almost there, Gotta go, gotta go! I raise my eyes daring to look in that field stands my fear, A lone single sentinel beckoning me to come into his house, A little old building leaning too far to the right, it almost tilts, On this cold and oh so damp night, it is an ominous sight, yet fragile I fear, Gotta go, gotta go! Inside it waits for me to come—to sit among its inhabitants alone, For I am sure as there is a hell, it is where the boogey man dwells, Waiting for such as me to come out into the night, And so again, I tuck and run, fast as I can—fast as I can I no longer need to go for this is not the outhouse, It is the place of the Boogey Man’s fun, Gotta go, gotta go! © March 12, 2008 Marlena B. Beal

Reviewed by Regis Auffray

Reviewed on August 3, 2009

There was no plumbing in our house when I was little, not even in the kitchen... ...and I remember the outhouse. This is very effectively done, Marlena. Thank you for sharing. Love and best wishes,

Regis

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)

Reviewed on March 11, 2008

Coming from a small rural town in south Arkansas in the fifties also, I understand exactly what you are talking about . . . Funny stuff . . . Gotta watch out for the Boogie Man . . . Damn straight . . .