There are nights
when the dreams of that house
break through these bedroom walls,
as the ringing in my ears
becomes the sound of my own name,
echoing through that third floor stairway
into the open pocket doors
of the dining room,
through the nine windows in the sun parlor,
finally escaping into the gravel stones
of the backyard.
An old house
built in the 1920’s,
when building houses was an art-form,
When carpenters carried photographs
of their craftsmanship,
and carved their service into honor
with their hands.
There were so much wood in that house
Wooden beams on the ceiling,
Wooden pillars between rooms,
a wooden mantel above the fireplace,
parquet floors, mahogany furniture.
As a child I’d imagine faces
staring at me in the lines of the wood
ready to leap alive to capture me.
Beautiful carnival glass adorned
the bronze chandeliers in the living room.
From the same room
a stained glass window
looked down upon us from the staircase,
its green stems and red roses
so vibrant in the afternoon light.
I came back home at the age of 50
Divorced, two sons fully grown and gone,
I had to decide my next living arrangement
since my landlord wanted to sell,
I chose to move to the 3rd floor apartment
of my parent’s house.
‘In Retrospect’
these became the best years of my life.
Being back at home with mom and dad
bought an everyday wonder,
a magical presence of my old life
mingling with the new.
I felt like a kid with a grown up heart
who knew exactly where she was.
(to be continued)
pattyv
Your house imagery is stunning, Patty. It resonates with beauty and a child’s imagination of what might happen if all the wooden carvings came to life. Going back to live there after so many years seems like it was a good move for you, a distinction between what came before as an adult, and the possibilities that lie ahead, even harkening back to your childhood. I know it will turn out well for you going forward.
B, thanks for your great response but that was 20 years ago, it lasted about 10 years and such a loving experience, both mom & dad passed and I was there to help them stay in the home they loved. Afterwards I couldn’t afford the house and sadly had to sell. There’s so many moments to write about, that’s why I said to be continued.
This was a beautiful story about a loving and beloved home. How fortunate to be able to have a “do-over”–to go back and relive a part of your life with the wisdom and experience of an older person. And to appreciate your parents on another level. As always, hauntingly evocative poetry.
Patty, a lovely poem and what a joyous plan to move back in your childhood home while your parents are still with you!
And yes, beautiful imagery of wood and stained glass. I’ve written about my childhood memory of the stained glass window in my mother’s closet in my story “Fluffy and the Alligator Shoes”.
https://www.myretrospect.com/stories/fluffy-and-the-alligator-shoes/
Evocative! Lovely that you were able to go back, re-enter their lives and make it work.
This is such a lovely description of your childhood home. So special to have been able to revisit it as an adult.