Song from the Basement

Song from the Basement

In my dream
I sat on the floor of our basement in the dark
crouching next to the Ping-Pong table,
hands over my head
resting on the back of my neck,
ducking from the darts
that the older Putnam boy
tossed around the room.

I crawled over to the 19th century well
next to the root cellar,
grasping slight finger and feet holds
taking me down
near the well’s bottom,
clinging to the moist sides
completely underneath the dangerous darts
and adult chaos above,
fastened onto the toe holds
clinging to the sides,
listening to dripping water below
to wait for the darts to stop.