This poem is a reflection on a childhood memory, when my friends and I built tiny “nature homes” from sticks, stones, and imagination, believing we were creating safe spaces for animals. At the time, it felt like a pure, selfless act. Years later, walking past that same street corner, I realized that what we built may not have helped any animals at all. But it gave something important to me. This poem explores that quiet shift: from innocent intention to a deeper understanding of why we create and who we’re really trying to save.
I used to fall asleep with dirt under my nails
Smiling in the dark
Thinking I’d done something good
I pictured sparrows resting on the twig beams
Of the home my buddies and I had lovingly crafted for them
Beetles curling safe beneath pinecone-capped roofs
Rabbits peeking through prickly branch doors —
All of them warm
Because of me
Back then I spent my days
Building sanctuaries for woodland critters
The shelters were my gifts
And maybe I did
But then the days started coming faster.
Games changed, friends moved on,
And the little corner where we knelt
just became another part of the street.
Now, the sidewalk is still cracked,
The street lamp, still flickering,
But because I forgot to change my corner of the world
The world didn't seem changed at all
Sometimes I pass that spot
And wonder
Did I help anything, anyone that day?
It is only now I finally understand
That little house was never built for them
It was built
For me
Page created on 6/2/2025 6:39:36 AM
Last edited 6/2/2025 4:40:51 PM
