Between the ages of 9 and 14 I lived at times in the old house of my stepfather, far from town, with very little electricity and the heat from the barrel stove. We didn't live there all the time, but there were cold days and summer days and pumping water by hand and searing our mittens on the stove while being yelled at that they would burn. I remember those times, and tried to put some of it into words here.. started out as automatic writing, and then suddenly, I was going there, as if an adult, alone.. even though the house no longer exists. It is there only in my memories.
((retracted for possible submission))
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