Your House

Your house


Your house. The wood floor is rotting. The ceiling leaks. The foundation is cracked. You never go inside. Spend your days fixing the exterior because that is what people see. lay down fake silver bricks, which you painted gold. Your neighbors will turn green when looking upon them. I’m peeking from under the cover from the drive way. watching you work so hard to solve the problem in the wrong approach. You come over. Take the cover off and start fiddling with my engine. I will never run. Only sit and rust, like every other broken down chevy station wagon given to a kid by their grandfather. Their immigrant grandfather who was burnt out from the world wars and nostalgic for the old New World. The grandfather who told your father tales of his life in Ireland and tried to teach him right and wrong. He obviously didn’t get through. The bruises on mother’s face were proof enough. You try to get me started because you are really ready to drive. Ready to get behind the wheel, step on the gas and never look back. I can’t. Burnt out from dream chasing too. Can’t take you down the road needed. Need to do it yourself. On your own two feet. Frantically turning the key. Cursing. Praying. Hoping. But, nothing. Slam hands against the steering wheel. The horn works. No longer able to hold back, you burst into tears. Exhausted from desperation. climb into the back seat and go to sleep. The back seat where you always sleep. You would not dare sleep in your bed. That horrible place, which you sat up all night listening to them fight. Nor would you sleep on your living room couch, where your mother placed you to be raised by tv. No, you would not dare go inside your broken down house. The house where you played chess with grandfather for hours. Watched A Star is Born with your grandmother. Painted and played guitar all day. Why would you want to go in, when you can remember from a far? A view from a far is unsharp & shallow focus, where most is unclear. It has been month since you have gone in the woods in your backyard. Would you even recognize the places a girl once loved you so? The river you swam in and fire to keep warm. The mud you held each other down in. Can you even remember a time you were happy? Growing in happiness and love with a friend. If she were to come back, would you know her face? Your vision is clouded from ghost of the past and fear does not allow eyes to open. She in your bedroom waiting. Visible from the window you blindly cover with fake gold bricks. You sleep in the car your grandfather gave you, but forget all the wisdom he passed on to you. He always said, “When opportunity knocks it is not enough to open the door, you have to walk through it. Even if it is not exactly what you want, you need it. You never know where it could lead. Action builds character. If you don’t do any thing, you will never become any body.” Open the door, go inside and walk around. You might begin to smile again, create and rebuild.


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