Empty House

Empty House Weather beaten, sun-baked Rickety, rackety siding, Falling apart, worn of age Tucked away midst bushes and brambles, Rattling windows and dusty ledges Battled the cold wintry breeze. The sun porch protected the old frame From harsh prairie winds and snow. The wood box inside the porch was always full, Now empty, overcome by cob-webs and moths, Painted walls, seasoned with smoke From the wood-burning stove and pipes Rays of sunlight now light the room. I seem to hear the sound of a kettle sputtering On a well-stoked fire, Mingled with the fresh aroma of coffee. Creaky, scuffed up old carpet marks Ah, Sunday gatherings, Christmas, Dad read the Bible round the family circle. Sunflower seeds fell lavishly, roasted and all! Games –“fruit basket upset!” They dashed for mom’s round chair, I remember the pile of spokes! Glued and fixed it sat once again, Restored, by the old bouker stove - The warmth, I feel it yet! Glancing over the threshold where the kerosene lamp Once sat, casting a dim ray of light. An old bed post, a torn mattress – Only cast a haunting shadow of yesterday. The living room carpet, now well worn, The old wooden rocker in the corner – Mom’s oasis from tiring years, Upstairs, the rooms, the noise – laughter, Squeaky stairs – how well I remember! All these – a barrage of memories dear, In the empty house. Susan Fox