The Lamp
I have a lamp. Of course, we have several lamps. But this one, it's special, and holds a tight place in my heart. It sits now, in the basement, on top of the filing cabinet that Tim acquired from an old job. The lamp isn't plugged in. It simply rests, bulb in hand, waiting for us to turn it on, to use it once again, to see its light burn bright. This lamp used to be on often, every night in fact. Because it was the lamp that we passed on from child to child. It saw the twins when they were two days old: itty-bitty identical cherubs who barely weighed as much as a sack of flour each. It welcomed the fiery redhead and eased him through some rough patches in the wee hours of stormy nights. It said Hello , and, Aren't you a surprise? to the little princess that took up the guest room, but who, clearly, is no longer a guest (and never was). It is a lamp with Noah and his animals, in an ark, on top of a swirl of blue water. It has no place in my home now...