It was our ‘for now house’
A white and green monstrosity at the edge of Maywood
A loud, busy road divided our house from the quite cemetery
Its paint is peeling now and new shingles are 10 years over do
The craggy sidewalks used to have etches of childhood chalk drawings
And the rock in the front yard, nestled in the over grown grass is still painted green from a child’s whim long ago
The small dirt path either muddy, frozen, or bone dry leads you the concrete steps.
            Steps that little boys have jumped from and shattered their jaws.
The rusted railing swayed during rough winds, making it hard for little girls to keep their balance going down the stairs.
            The screen door was always open
The inner door had a loose golden knob
You didn’t need a key to get in, only a loud voice and a fist.
Once you got through the door you had better watch your step or your foot would get trapped in the hole in the floor boards to the left.
Dust was the first scent you saw see.
            Then there was the antiseptic.
            The attempt at being sterile.
If you were lucky there were sweet potatoes or maybe eggs on the stove in the kitchen and you could smell the butter…
The walls were white.
All of the rooms had no doors only sheets as a barrier between the house dwellers and the outside.
Voices shouted commands or jovial jabs.
It was such an ugly place and you wouldn’t have liked to be there.
But this isn’t about you or the place.
It’s about the people that lived there:
            The man that carried me into my first snow.
            The woman that meant the world to me
The people that I loved—the people that are gone now.
So the place is worthless.
I’ll never love any place more than them—
I’ll never love anything as I have loved them.