Voices In the Walls

There are voices trapped within the walls along the halls that link old rooms and childish laughter bubbles the sleek designer paint new owners placed to seal away the past; the color memory keeps bleeding through where sunshine warms, window-framed like children's silhouettes. Our names, cement prisoners, call from the curving walk where hopscotch chalk faded in the rain. The hill across the road heaves a heavy sigh and echoes of our play escape in ripples of the leaves. Thin, haunting voices draw me backward, like the calls of baying hounds alerting on a scented trail; there will never be treasure more rare than the cherished memories embedded in the house we first called home. © September 11, 2015