Home is where the heart is. A poem I wrote of a strong memory from my childhood, which always remain even when everything might be forgotten. Does everyone have a memory like this?
She is outside
Crouching amongst the orange and yellow flowers in the overgrown field of green;
Brilliant morning sun,
Trees rustling in the wind.
The girl's flowered sundress
Puddling into the grass as she fills her pockets with dandelions.
And behind her
The old family home keeping watch over its fourth generation child;
Sturdy wooden porches,
Sighing into the earth.
The red lopsided coal shed
Leaking coaldust into the ashen filled driveway.
Inside the house
A half century behind its time the old coal stove feeds and comforts its caretakers;
Red carpeted stairs,
Coalbucket by the door.
The oilcloth covered floorboards
Creaking underfoot as they retrace the steps of their ancestors.