Thoughts of Home


The stillness, dark with shadows of oldness,
A settled cool flows over the floorboards
pushing the heat higher and higher.
The silence beaten with the tick and tock,
the woosh of central air,
the scratch and purr of an elongated cat
arced above the rug.
The quietness, missing the sounds of
children and television.
Where running feet warm the air,
indoors, then outdoors, closing and shutting
opening the home to new air, laced with pollen,
mosquitoes and the mild stench of perspiring
children.
The old home forgets its age as it shelters its youth.
As the movements rustle the foundation ever so slightly,
new beginnings form with each breath, each game,
each crumb that falls to the floor.
The beating hearts echo down hallways,

hands print memories onto the light-colored paint.

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