The Lamp Chimley

I will tell you 'bout one evenin' when I was a kid.
I cleaned up the lamp for Mom, like I mostly did.
I washed the chimley, then set it on a towel to drain a spell.
Not thinking, I reached for the towel - and down the chimley fell.

With a crash that sure did startle me, it landed on the floor.
I stood there gaping at a hundred bits of glass, or more.
Mom had heard the racket and hurried to the room.
My heart was in my mouth; I expected her to fume.

"No cryin' over spilt milk," surprised, I heard her say,
"You'll have to get one from the store, so hurry on your way.
I know it's gettin' near dusk, but you'll have enough of time."
Then she fished out of her change cup a nickel and a dime.

Then she picked up another dime - "Long's you're there," she said,
"you might's well pick me up a little loaf of store-bought bread."
"You mean the kind that's seven cents, Mom?  That'll leave three cents."
"Oh, alright," she got the message, "take it out in peppermints."

I started off a runnin'; my feet scarce touched the ground.
The shortcut 'cross the field I made in three leaps and a bound.
'Most out of breath - but in short time - I landed at the store.
The little tin bell tinkled, as I opened up the door.

But, there 'as one ahead of me by the name of Missus Bleak,
and it appeared that she was doin' dealin' for a week.
She listed all the stuff she needed, so I found a place
to stand out of the way to wait, by the candy case.

"I'll have a quarter's worth of bacon, slice it kinda thin,
and cut a chunk of that rat cheese," and pointing to the bin,
"half a pound of them there crackers, that'll do for lunch.
Them little sa'sages look good; wrap me up a bunch."

"A block of bluin' and a cake of soap to warsh my hair -
you might's well get my warshin' sody while yer over there.
A dozen little buttons, and a spool of sewin' thread.
I'm bound I must git started on that meetin' shirt for Jed."

The counter was a fillin' up, but on and on she'd drone.
I fig'red it would be pitch dark 'fore ever I got home.
I saw an edge of counter, so I got my loaf of bread.
"That's all you want?" the grocer asked.  "No," I shook my head.

He ciphered Miz Bleak's bill; she said, "Ain't vittles dear there days?
Jes' write it down and Jed'll settle when he gets his pay."
I waited while he lit his lamp before I got my turn.
"Now, be careful of this chimley," he told me with concern.

As he rolled it up in paper, I told him what I'd done.
"That happened to be once," he chuckled, "as I recall, I run."
Outside the dark was creeping beyond the window's light
and Mom had never let me out to walk alone at night.

It was so dark, I couldn't see my hand before my face.
I clutched the bundle carefully, and travelled at snail's pace.
To get just to the corner, it took me really long,
so, to give me courage, I hummed a little song.

Even the moon and stars hid as I turned down the lane.
The air was damp; I knew that by the morning we'd have rain.
Suddenly, I heard a noise; I knew something was near.
I couldn't take another step; my heart, it thumped with fear.

But then I recognized a whine; it was our old dog, Jack.
I guess he'd come to meet me, and help to lead me back.
I heard Mom call out my name as I got near the gate.
She said, "I was gettin' worried!  How come you to be so late?"

As she lit the lamp I started tellin' my experience.
Then we sat down together and ate our sack of mints.

- Lillian Arnold Lopez "Pineylore"

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