So many years gone,
yet here it is fenceless.
The derelict chaos of untended growth
cleared for a clean white pebbled path,
lined with lilies, poppies, lilacs,
leading me to the front door.
I could barely detect our numerals
aged in a wedge of weathered wood,
overshadowed now by that number
emblazoned on a bold bronze plaque,
polished for the world to see.
Drawing my eye to the luminous button
I dab at with one extended finger,
unleashing a cacophonous medley of
“Home on the Range” and
“There's No Place Like Home.”
Effervescent sweet hilarity,
flattening the old forbidding fence
taming the monsters in the moat.
A couple appeared, smiling with patient enquiry,
framed in the doorway
revealing an interior of light and color,
giggling children inside.
Nothing left of the dark furnishings,
carpets and drapes,
that had furled my childhood in silent rage.
I looked into their cloudless faces
and stepped away.
My memories had lost their home.