Thursday, October 14, 2010
THE HOUSE THAT STOOD HERE.
The house that stood here
was big and white, and nearly a century old.
It had a big kitchen, a walk-through bathroom,
And a small cold pantry where we kept the feral kittens.
There was an old barn beside it with a rotten floor,
And every night, except in winter,
Swallows flew in and out at twilight
Swooping and darting about, catching bugs.
There was an arbor with a grapevine
That we sat under in the summertime
And a lawn so big
It had to be cut in stages.
This is where we were living when I woke
My sister in the morning with a rocket ship's roar.
And this is where we were living when she
Married my friend from high school.
I forget how long we lived there.
Was it two years? Three?
Then we moved away from there
And thirty years later, the house is gone.
A housing development sits there now.
New houses with new memories.
But the houses don't make the memories.
It's the people inside them that do.