Friday, August 16, 2013

The house is empty

The house is empty
now, waiting for the next,
but it should not be empty
now because it is 18 years
of life and 40 years of memory,
and visits, and laughter,
and grief, and Christmas trees,
and Thanksgiving dinners
with Mogen David wine
and the night the roof leaked
from Hurricane Betsy
and the fraternity party
and the king cake parties
and the breakfast after
the senior prom
and the arguments
and the slammed doors
and the children
and the children’s children
and mincemeat pie
and salmon croquettes
and banana fritters
and barbequed ribs
from the barbeque drum.
The house doesn’t remember
now, the house is empty
now, but the house is never
empty, never will be,
never is now is never and
why do I always remember
the hardwood window sills

Photograph by Kim Newberg via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


David Rupert said...

I remember leaving my mother's house after we cleaned it out. The last image in my rear-view mirror officially closed a period in my life. And I, like you, rejoiced in the benefit of the years and memories

Martha Jane Orlando said...

So many memories even when one can't go home again . . .
Beautiful, Glynn!