Woodside

The house we lived in Was someone's idea of a castle. Stone and old cement walls Ornate ceiling fixtures A faded marble foyer. There were no buyers So it went cheap My parents were also practical. There were two apartments Which meant a monthly income. We lived upstairs So as to not hear footsteps at night Our rooms were small And the walls retained a coldness That lasted until summer In the foyer Near the door Was a telephone Perched on a small table Big enough to lean on In case the call Became a conversation. The phone itself Was basic black Ordinary And indestructible. Our TV was in the living room We watched The Kennedy/Nixon debates And witnessed the trauma of Kennedy's assassination The nation grieved For the Kennedys But not for too long Our attention was diverted When the Beatles arrived. It was the sixties America was anxious And searching for something new to believe in And so were we. Things changed I left My sister married And our little brother Inherited a room of his own. Parents didn't change They spent time Dwelling on old memories and unpaid debts. I visit the old place Now and then Driving by slowly Long enough to see that The new family: Added an extension Expanded the garage Used up most of the back yard Changes which I can't approve. I still remember When I lived there How I was able to see the New York City skyline at night Lit up And full of promises Then I would dream Of being someone else And somewhere else. Once passing by the house I imagined The front door Opened I was tempted to walk in And saw myself climbing The long staircase to the top To look out and see If the city lights Still shone brightly Beckoning me with her spell If so, I would ask whatever happened to my dreams?