Today's SOL is inspired by Kiley's comments
during a cocktail hour before the dancing!
She was talking about her grandparents' home.
"I drove by their old house," she said,
"I almost didn't recognize it.
"I almost didn't recognize it.
There were always flowers,"
she said, remembering, wistfully.
I was not surprised when, the next morning
I turned the car towards
My grandma and Pop Pop's house,
Still on the corner of Orange Ave,
Without its front porch?
Without it's claw-footed clay pots dripping with ivy?
Without the big window into the living room?
Without the out of control butterfly bush?
Looking so different, so sad.
Then, I turned my head towards
My Aunt Minnie's house,
Across the avenue,
No longer neatly painted white with crisp red trim?
Now purple and florescent green trim?
No longer a perfect porch to ponder life's woes?
Now a collection of beds, chairs and debris?
Not a flower in sight.
Looking so different, so sad.
"I drove by their houses," I thought,
"I didn't like what I saw.
There were always flowers,"
I said wistfully
Knowing it was really the people
Not the flowers I was missing.
"Perhaps you can only move forward,"
I thought, wistfully,
Thinking about the newlyweds
Building their own new memories
From the seeds of those who grew loving families,
As I turned my car towards home,
Where my pots dripping with pansies waited,
Where my crisp white porch
Filled with chairs for pondering
Was waiting for me.
2 comments:
It is difficult to see homes we loved change. I love your description of heading home! It was the people, but somehow, the flowers were part of it, too.
Your use of the word "without" as well as the repetition of "There were always flowers," really capture the feeling of wistfulness and missing people for me. Beautiful poem.
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