Once it was sold to a new family, I marveled at how households--everything that characterized them and defined them--could simply vanish into mere memories. I found a way to convey this in a poem I've been working on for the last several months. I have finally finished it and thought I would share it here.
Household Vanished
Vintage ringtone in a shadowy basement
Heavy black rotary phone sits on an orange
homemade shelf
Beneath ancient college science textbooks
and discarded novels
Countless hours of TV viewing, stereo
listening, quilting…sleepy Christmas mornings
Mom whistles cheerfully through wooden
saloon doors
Sweet clean scent of soap in the air amid
mountains of laundry
Shaking, snapping, folding, smoothing
the linens and towels and clothing
That will soon hang neatly in closets filled
with hand-me-downs and school uniforms
Stuffed animals, artwork, boxes of
keepsakes, and the growing collections
Of belongings that were the culmination
of each young life…incubating dreams of future days
Flowery twin beds in tidy rooms of a
cozy upstairs…golden hardwood floors covered with rugs, dolls, guitar music…
Sun shining through light green leaves
on tree branches just outside the window
Curtains rising and falling on the
breeze…offering a framed view of a sloping yard of grass, wildflowers, gardens
and towering trees
Through the attic door – children’s
playthings, suitcases, old paperbacks, mouse traps smeared with petrified
peanut butter, dust, cobwebs, and boxes of mementos from another era...
Time capsule carefully packed away for
young grandling hands to discover years later
Down the carpeted steps where crawling
babies race each other to the top
Where generations of children sit
peeking through banister spindles into the living room
From which emanates hours and hours of
music, three-part harmonies, lively conversations, raucous parlor games,
laughter, crying, arguments, solemn rosary prayers
The quiet of reading and studying, and
peaceful sunbeam silences
Creaking elegant vintage couch, chairs, and
lamps…
Stately Parlor Grand Steinway…green
Asian relief art and worn ivory keys
Playing a wide assortment of tunes by
many young hands…filling the entire house with its music
Wooden secretary bookshelf keeping
finances organized…reflecting a history of literary intelligence
Thick wooden cross above hallway entrance
announces great faith in Jesus, beseeching His presence in times of fear,
dysfunction, addiction, powerlessness…and all the memories begging to be flung
off and forgotten
Living room where delicious smells waft in
from the tiny narrow ship’s galley kitchen
Practical dishes, glasses, and flatware purchased
for thousands of uses…
Home-cooked meals on the stove and in
the oven day after day…aromas of sautéing onion and garlic…chicken with a hint
of rosemary…pasta boiling, soup swirling around wooden spoon, Italian bread
baking…dishwasher churning, late-night milkshakes with sisters at the round table…
Dad’s smoke hanging like a toxic cloud
Pantry and refrigerator filled with
bounty…always enough, always plentiful
Wood-paneled dining room, converted breezeway
Long table of polished wood covered with
padding and table cloths…
Everyday fabric and stainless steel
Until holiday adornment transforms it into
antique linen and lace, shining silver and china, Advent wreath and ornate
candlesticks
Room bringing a family together for
thousands of meals, thousands of conversations, welcoming guests and visitors...Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts….
Rainbow of color across windowsills
where a collection of assorted bottles present lovely views beyond
Sprawling green lawn, passing deer,
falling leaves, puffy snowdrifts, rising and setting sun
Sunbeams through honey-brown glasses of
iced tea or blood red wine
Silver bowl piled high with summer corn-on-the-cob
Framed “O Thou Who Clothest the Lillies”
prayer hangs behind Mom’s chair
Mom
The glue holding it all
together…household planning, appointments, the living of daily lives
Her sanctuary – bed surrounded by walls
of powdery blue, white curtains of lace
Dressing table filled with modest
jewelry, makeup, and perfume for those rare occasions
Window looking out on her beloved back
yard, cracked just enough to let in fresh air as she sleeps
Small closet full of practical yet tasteful
clothes and shoes
This week’s novel on the night stand
A good night’s sleep
This was all that was needed
Front yard
Concrete flower urns teeming with
petunias or impatiens…wooden bench in the shade of tall trees
Long sloped driveway overflowing with
cars on holidays, a skateboarders’ slalom, a Moon Rock game drawn in chalk…an
endless, back-breaking snow shoveling job in winter
Brass bell rings at the side door
announcing company
Black iron eagle spreads its wings
protectively over the garage
Garage full of old fishing rods, tool
boxes, bicycles, stilts, ladders, gardening tools, lawn mowers, nesting mice,
and the trusty family car
Worn, outdated sun deck once built by
capable son’s hands, lost rock garden and concrete patio beneath
Gathering place on fair weather
days…peaceful bird choruses overhead or flying in for landings at the birdfeeder
Wind in the evergreen boughs and all
other guardian trees swaying above
Back yard
Vegetable gardens, fruit trees, roses,
birdbath
Fairy homes built by little girl hands
at the base of huge trees
Picnic table jams, volleyball, Badminton
and Bacci
Sledding to the very bottom where the
blackberry bushes lay dormant
Empty field beyond – for wandering and
hiding and forts and secret treehouses
Meditative grass-cutting, riding round
and round and round until the sun sinks low in the west
Years later grandchildren run down the
slope, playing and romping where parents once did
Selling point of an entire
dwelling – the magical, spacious back yard
Offering tranquil, pleasing views to
aging parents day after day
Household once crammed with family begins
to empty…one by one they fly away
Then there are only two
Quiet classical music on the radio and
after-dinner Scrabble
The easy golden years of peace and
togetherness…
….until she is all that is left
Deafening silence.
The sound of ticking clocks, a lone
television, continued classical music on the kitchen radio and crossword
puzzles
Dust gathers in unused rooms. Snaps and
pops as the house settles.
The eagerly-awaited ring of the
telephone…or a motor in the driveway of someone visiting
Then, with great reluctance, she is
taken away to live out her years where others can care for her
A tomblike hush falls over the household…which
is no longer alive
Piece by piece, it is disassembled…much
goes to live on in the houses of children and grandchildren
Other things are sold to strangers
Parlor Grand Steinway ships off, returning
full circle to New York
Ashes of a beloved niece are reverently
exhumed from the garden
So many things kept in remembrance, but
everything else removed. Erased. Deleted.
The house becomes an empty shell, devoid
of anything that once gave it life or character
The household is vanished…is now only a
collection of memories.
For an entire summer it remains empty
The familiar scents dissipate
The trees continue to watch over it
protectively and the wildlife roam the yard
Then a new family arrives with their
possessions and their history
…and a new household begins
