Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Not For Sale


I woke It up.
It was resting and waiting,
Empty for so long.
I opened it up,
Gave It some air.
It breathed.

Thinking I was alone,
I caressed each room.
It startled me
By playing sounds of life,
Frightening me into the certainty
I wasn't alone.

Taking it apart
brick by brick,
(might as well be)
Erasing personal clutter, & worn foot-paths
So that strangers will
Assess It's worthiness.

Even when we'd taken back everything,
It birthed up more for us to cradle.
Out of the farthest corners of rusted-paint-cans, rat-crap,
Grandbabies' photos, wedding planners,
Hand-made Father's day cards, a favorite uncle's watercolors.

It never stops
creaking, moaning, humming.
(Why should an empty home sound uninhabited?)
-Holidays make me miss my mom, and seek my siblings
This was written a year ago, july, amidst a crying break in the middle of shampooing the carpets of my old home. This theme seems to be emerging with fellow writers this month. -Peace
-all rights reserved, 2009


  1. by the sounds of it, you loved that house...

  2. Christmas presents are for kids.
    Christmas memories are for adults.
    All of the memories!

  3. Indeed, why the hell should a house be silent? It is impossible if it is a home. Really like this idea. Reminds of Edgar Guest Heap O Livin

  4. Dianne, you've an interesting perspective and voice. Not one I've encountered elsewhere.

    I'm glad you've family enough to surround you.


  5. House as organic entity. Certainly we share territory here. Maybe there's scope for an anthology about our relationship with houses.