Shelter

by Kim Addonizio

It's noisy here. The kids run around, screaming, their mothers slap them and they cry. I have the bottom bunk, I hang a blanket from the bed above me for privacy. In the middle of the night it's finally quiet. I lie awake and thinkabout goals. Sheryl, the worker, says I need some. She says What do you want Rita? and I say peace and quiet, maybe someplace sunnier than here. I say I'dlike to have a dog. A big one, a retriever or shepherd with long soft fur. Whatelse? she says. I remember my dad's garden, how I used to like sitting with him while he weeded, putting my toes in the dirt. He grew tomatoes, corn, peas.There was a rosebush, too, once he let me pick a big rose and there was a spiderin it, I got scared and shook it and the petals went all over me and he laughed.He showed me how to put my thumb over the hoze nozzle so it sprayed. Sherylsays I could garden. I think about the coleus Jimmy and I had, how I would takecuttings, put them in water and they'd grow more flowers. But then they alldied. At night I listen to everybody sleep around me, some people snoring, some starting to say something and then stopping. It's pitch-dark behind the blanket. I try to see it sunny, a yard with a dog lying down under a tree. I try to smell warm tomatoes. Curl my toes in the sheets. Try to sleep.