Attic Playhouse


This weekend we say good-bye to our childhood home as we help Mom move into her new place in town. Today is unpacking day and she's excited about her new apartment.

Still we need to take a little time to remember what our home meant to us. This is but one of them.

When I have one more look at the house to say good-bye, I also have to look at the space, though it be empty, where we played in the attic of our farm home. I'll picture it as it was in those days.

No photos today. I'll let you imagine it.




Attic Playhouse

Under the roof is a playhouse 
  with its familiar odour of heat and yesterday       
leather skates lean against each other
                                 like fallen dominoes
                                    March through December

outgrown Sunday shoes wait for the next pair of feet
castoff clothes crammed in a crumbling cardboard box
yellowed notebooks   -lined with ancient scribbles

crank the gramophone
inside its heat blistered  black box

it warbles a tune
in symphony with buzzing flies
          hypnotized by the light of one window
           and too dazed to find another exit


 © Carolyn Wilker


previously published in Once Upon a Sandbox



Comments

  1. Still Waters and Dancing Wings29 October 2016 at 19:20

    LIKE this poem. Read it before. I'll read it again, and still like it!

    ReplyDelete

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