The rose had shed its petals along the walkway leading up to the home
as if welcoming a wedding party
on this early May morning,
but those who once lived here are either dead or scattered.
The lock still opened with the same key.
A familiar turn of the knob as the
door scraped against the threshold
and a creaking floor welcomed my footstep.
This was where I was born,
suffered angst, grew rebellious and
walked out that same front door,
leaving it for granted.
Now all that is left is the structure
with no foundation of family.
As a rose strewn walkway lays wait
with no cause for celebration.
Kim, It looks like the start of another great story, indeed heart felt. I remember your Dear Father fondly. Always working long hours on his mail route only to add additional hours maintaining his many VW(s). Always smiling and joking with us. I spend many happy hours in your family home on Duncan Street as a child and adolesent. It was the home of your wonderful parents that always treated me as an addition to your family. Your family home was also occasionally a santuary for me when I wanted to be removed from my Step-father when he would be on a benge. Such were the times back then. We did have a great times growing up and as adults meeting around the states and the world. More great times to come too. Keep up your writing Brother. glen
ReplyDelete