The Color of Butter
While closing my eyes, I return once again
to an image that nestles at the foot of the mountains
Snow crowns San Jacinto as it shadows the valley
I am there as a child in the house with white shutters
Red brick and mortar, and siding like butter
A southern front porch, is facing the hills
There are tall amber trees, and a stream, I recall,
somewhere that wanders, like a dream to remember
Bits and pieces are kept in a keepsake I've held
They filter on down to shelter me now,....
To wrap me in comfort, when I dwell in the dark
grieving for loved ones, who were there at the start.
When the chill of the winter, or those sleepless nights, tossing,
fills me with losses, that shadow the moon...
I'll see grassy knolls, and bright alfalfa acres,
A house and a barn framed with painted white fences
The house unpretentious, where yards need attention
Mist skimming the water, ducks swim in the pond
A small corral… my Dad, dressed in Levi's…
and a pitchfork, in hand, holds sweet golden hay
A barn, and twin stalls, a red chicken house,
a clothes line, where white sheets are bleached by the sun
The house is alive, morning bacon is frying,
Mom is listening while cooking, to a radio show
Clattering of dishes, and the chattering soap stars
fills the kitchen with sunshine, like a breath of fresh air
Warm are the colors, resembling butter
Wallpaper borders in bright, happy yellow.
There are echoes I hear, of a house in the night,
Comforting sounds of a room in the dark
My cat nestled close, at the foot of my bed
where I'm wrapped in the memory of that place where I lived
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9/16/15
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