Old Farm House

All is the same except the color
of the paint-
The smokey ceilings tower way up high-
Tiles that were broken then; Still
need to be replaced today-
I can hear that old striped cat
pawing at the back door; Surely he’s
on his 9^th life by now-

Our eyes met as we passed in
the doorway-
Me headed for the bedside chair-
You headed outside for a smoke-
No words were needed; The house speaks
loud enough for all to hear-
The day is cloudy; As muddled as
our eyes filled with tiredness

The stovepipe whines as the cold wind
finds its weaknesses;
and mine-
I pull the blanket up over my shoulders,
and listen intently for your next
breath-
or at the least; Those silent tones
of eternity

Flakes of dried paint, in a plethora of
hues, lay forgotten in the
window sill-
I begin to search my mind for the
time they were fresh and vibrant-
As full of life as you once were-
Me and this old farm house needs to hear
your laughter; Feel your warmth; Smell
your cookies baking for the Grandchildren;
We need that;
We need that and so much more

I look around and wonder just
how many times this old house has heard,
the cries of mourners left behind-
Felt the unsettling of a broken heart?
Noticed the frown on a grandchild’s face?
Been the den of angst and anger, when
darkness found them alone for the very
first night?
I wonder if it weeps as well?

All is the same except for the color
of the paint-
The ceilings tower way up high-
Tiles that were broken then, still
needs to be replaced today-
I no longer hear that old striped cat
pawing at the door-

*silence*

© Lisa Hilbers
January 31, 2007