Our Playhouse

Our Playhouse


It was our fort, castle, schoolhouse,

airplane, church, and so much more,

the old playhouse.


A fortress against reality,

a refuge from the world.


We were cowboys, soldiers,

teachers, knights, and kings,

and I am sure I’m forgetting a few.


A bride and groom walking down the aisle.

Paratroopers jumping off the roof yelling
“Paratrooper number one hit the silk,”

and “Geronimo,” as bedsheets

unfurled from our backpacks.


Hours and days spent in joyous fantasy,

while worries were left behind.


It was larger than our imagination,

and as small as it needed to be.


White shingled siding with black trim,

Dutch doors, and even a storage attic.

A single bare lightbulb glared from above …

yes, we even had electricity.


My older brothers stored scores of

comic books in boxes, I inherited them all.

A treasure trove of lazy summer

afternoon enjoyment.


My childhood died the day that playhouse

was razed and laid to rest.

Age and neglect had taken its toll.

Memories still vivid accompany me to this day.


More than a fort, castle, airplane,

or schoolhouse, it was our childhood.

It taught us how to dream big.

Our playhouse.
Ann Christine Tabaka
Ann Christine Tabaka has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from publications. She lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Ariel Chart, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review. *(a complete list of publications is available upon request)

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