Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Home is Where the Heart Breaks


photo by PSC


Home is Where the Heart Breaks        

Architect must have been drunk
when he designed that house --
two beds, one bath, and a kitchen so small
someone had to stand and push in his chair
in order to open the back door
if anyone came calling during dinner

The only one of ten on a tiny dead-end street
set sideways on its lot, only two lonely
windows of welcome facing forward
(no such notion as curbside appeal);
front door cowering on the side
under aluminum awning, nestled
behind trellis of red roses each June, and
the focal point upon entering?
Toilet in the tiny bath across the hall.

Still, that home managed to make room,
with some additions to accommodate
expanding and extended family,
housing, at one time or another,
both grandmothers and a widowed aunt,
and offering, always, a seat at the table
to a widower friend and his son at the holidays

House and homestead proffering up
all the peace and pain, grief and joys
of a mostly functional family
where those who love can hurt us worst,
with comments never intended to draw blood
but, doing so just the same; over time
alcohol erodes, cancer creeps in, and stroke
revokes all recollections of hearth and home

That house (long since sold off), still stands
sideways on a street of mostly strangers now
Former neighbors remain loosely connected
through distance and time by shared histories,
tied together by bittersweet memories and tales retold
when they meet to mourn their losses at wakes & funerals
And those folks who still recall, confess
that since she left the family
Christmas Eves have never been the same

  
Written in response to: Poetic Bloomings - WELCOME HOME – PROMPT #68  (August 12, 2012)

  


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