Old House Down

11a street, calgary

My Grandmother's Bed

How she pulled it out of the wall

To my amazement. How it rattled and

Creaked, how it sagged in the middle

And smelled like a used-clothing store.

I was ecstatic to be sleeping on wheels!

It rolled when I moved; it trembled

when she climbed under the covers

in her flannel nightgown, kissing me

Softly on the head, turning her back.

Soon I could hear her snoring next to me-

Her clogged breath roaring in my ears,

Filling her tiny apartment like the ocean

Until I, too, finally, swayed and slept

While a radiator hissed in the corner

And traffic droned on Lawrence Avenue...

I woke up to the color of light pouring

Through the windows, the odor of soup

Simmering in the kitchen, my grandmother's

Face. It felt good to be ashore again

After sleeping on rocky, unfamiliar waves.

I loved to help her straighten the sheets

And lift the Murphy back into the wall.

It was like putting the night away

When we closed the wooden doors again

And her disappeared without a trace.

Words by Edward Hirsch, The Night Parade

Images by Lisa Murphy-Lamb taken on 11a street NW Calgary, November 2, 2009