Without brother and sister in it. It feels bare.
Stripped of all imaginary play talk to fill the air.
Matilda not playing honey in there with Arthur feels incomplete.
Like their beds normally made or the room remaining neat.
Cloud chair jumping is put on hold.
Without them, the room is static, empty and old.
No more Arthur saying. Dad, get out of my room.
I’m grown up now, so zoom.
Matilda isn’t around to feel up dad’s beard before she goes to sleep.
Like Kurt Russell’s hair, her emotive, oohing and ahhing to this runs quite deep.
I see Arthur in his bed without a worry wrinkle in sight.
Looking extra angelic as I tuck him in already asleep at night.
Matilda, now known as 10 in 3 years will soon outgrow her bunk.
Or break it from scaling her ladder with such forceful funk.
My lifeless kids room longs to reunite.
With my 2 precious children. Who give it such beautiful light.