Childhood Home | Poetry


She was a small girl, says the size of her shoes
On her closet floor in the bedroom,
A thin girl too, says the food portions on her plate

And a papa’s girl, says the big hug she gave him
Every time they met;
But not a girl for confronting an audience,
Says her shy blushing red face
And the short phrases she mumbled, barely audible.

A house full of sisters, says the women’s clothes scattered around

And the pleasant fragrance in the air of all the rooms,
And they had a cat, says the scratch post in the lone corner.
A family of bookworms, says the large wooden bookshelves crowded with tons of thick novels and worn-out books.
And the summers spent outside, says the mowed green grass from the fenced in backyard, says the mud on her hands and knees, and says the tree house that she helped her papa build.

They need to move, says the acre’s FOR SALE sign.
Sooner would be better, says the rotten wood floors,
The outdated appliances, and the broken screen door.
The eldest sister left home, says the band of marriage on her finger and the barren space left behind in one room.

They moved says the empty foundation where the house once stood-
They moved says the SOLD sign,
Which put a period at the end of their childhood.

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