There comes a time in many people's lives when they must bid farewell to their childhood homes. Often, it's a painful process of letting go. Four years ago when my childhood home was emptied and sold to new owners, it was like grieving a death. I could no longer consider it the family headquarters, and it would no longer be there to come home to, especially on holidays.

Once it was sold to a new family, I marveled at how households--everything that characterized them and defined them--could simply vanish into mere memories. I found a way to convey this in a poem I've been working on for the last several months. I have finally finished it and thought I would share it here.



Household Vanished
Vintage ringtone in a shadowy basementHeavy black rotary phone sits on an orange homemade shelfBeneath ancient college science textbooks and discarded novelsCountless hours of TV viewing, stereo listening, quilting…sleepy Christmas morningsMom whistles cheerfully through wooden saloon doorsSweet clean scent of soap in the air amid mountains of laundryShaking, snapping, folding, smoothing the linens and towels and clothingThat will soon hang neatly in closets filled with hand-me-downs and school uniformsStuffed animals, artwork, boxes of keepsakes, and the growing collectionsOf belongings that were the culmination of each young life…incubating dreams of future daysFlowery twin beds in tidy rooms of a cozy upstairs…golden hardwood floors covered with rugs, dolls, guitar music…Sun shining through light green leaves on tree branches just outside the window Curtains rising and falling on the breeze…offering a framed view of a sloping yard of grass, wildflowers, gardens and towering treesThrough the attic door – children’s playthings, suitcases, old paperbacks, mouse traps smeared with petrified peanut butter, dust, cobwebs, and boxes of mementos from another era...Time capsule carefully packed away for young grandling hands to discover years later
Down the carpeted steps where crawling babies race each other to the topWhere generations of children sit peeking through banister spindles into the living roomFrom which emanates hours and hours of music, three-part harmonies, lively conversations, raucous parlor games, laughter, crying, arguments, solemn rosary prayersThe quiet of reading and studying, and peaceful sunbeam silencesCreaking elegant vintage couch, chairs, and lamps…Stately Parlor Grand Steinway…green Asian relief art and worn ivory keys Playing a wide assortment of tunes by many young hands…filling the entire house with its musicWooden secretary bookshelf keeping finances organized…reflecting a history of literary intelligenceThick wooden cross above hallway entrance announces great faith in Jesus, beseeching His presence in times of fear, dysfunction, addiction, powerlessness…and all the memories begging to be flung off and forgottenLiving room where delicious smells waft in from the tiny narrow ship’s galley kitchenPractical dishes, glasses, and flatware purchased for thousands of uses…Home-cooked meals on the stove and in the oven day after day…aromas of sautéing onion and garlic…chicken with a hint of rosemary…pasta boiling, soup swirling around wooden spoon, Italian bread baking…dishwasher churning, late-night milkshakes with sisters at the round table…Dad’s smoke hanging like a toxic cloudPantry and refrigerator filled with bounty…always enough, always plentiful
Wood-paneled dining room, converted breezewayLong table of polished wood covered with padding and table cloths…Everyday fabric and stainless steel Until holiday adornment transforms it into antique linen and lace, shining silver and china, Advent wreath and ornate candlesticksRoom bringing a family together for thousands of meals, thousands of conversations, welcoming guests and visitors...Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts….Rainbow of color across windowsills where a collection of assorted bottles present lovely views beyondSprawling green lawn, passing deer, falling leaves, puffy snowdrifts, rising and setting sunSunbeams through honey-brown glasses of iced tea or blood red wineSilver bowl piled high with summer corn-on-the-cobFramed “O Thou Who Clothest the Lillies” prayer hangs behind Mom’s chair
MomThe glue holding it all together…household planning, appointments, the living of daily livesHer sanctuary – bed surrounded by walls of powdery blue, white curtains of laceDressing table filled with modest jewelry, makeup, and perfume for those rare occasions Window looking out on her beloved back yard, cracked just enough to let in fresh air as she sleepsSmall closet full of practical yet tasteful clothes and shoesThis week’s novel on the night standA good night’s sleepThis was all that was needed
Front yardConcrete flower urns teeming with petunias or impatiens…wooden bench in the shade of tall treesLong sloped driveway overflowing with cars on holidays, a skateboarders’ slalom, a Moon Rock game drawn in chalk…an endless, back-breaking snow shoveling job in winterBrass bell rings at the side door announcing companyBlack iron eagle spreads its wings protectively over the garageGarage full of old fishing rods, tool boxes, bicycles, stilts, ladders, gardening tools, lawn mowers, nesting mice, and the trusty family carWorn, outdated sun deck once built by capable son’s hands, lost rock garden and concrete patio beneath Gathering place on fair weather days…peaceful bird choruses overhead or flying in for landings at the birdfeeder Wind in the evergreen boughs and all other guardian trees swaying above
Back yardVegetable gardens, fruit trees, roses, birdbathFairy homes built by little girl hands at the base of huge treesPicnic table jams, volleyball, Badminton and BacciSledding to the very bottom where the blackberry bushes lay dormantEmpty field beyond – for wandering and hiding and forts and secret treehousesMeditative grass-cutting, riding round and round and round until the sun sinks low in the westYears later grandchildren run down the slope, playing and romping where parents once didSelling point of an entire dwelling – the magical, spacious back yardOffering tranquil, pleasing views to aging parents day after day
Household once crammed with family begins to empty…one by one they fly awayThen there are only twoQuiet classical music on the radio and after-dinner ScrabbleThe easy golden years of peace and togetherness…….until she is all that is left
Deafening silence. The sound of ticking clocks, a lone television, continued classical music on the kitchen radio and crossword puzzles Dust gathers in unused rooms. Snaps and pops as the house settles. The eagerly-awaited ring of the telephone…or a motor in the driveway of someone visiting
Then, with great reluctance, she is taken away to live out her years where others can care for her
A tomblike hush falls over the household…which is no longer alive Piece by piece, it is disassembled…much goes to live on in the houses of children and grandchildrenOther things are sold to strangers Parlor Grand Steinway ships off, returning full circle to New York Ashes of a beloved niece are reverently exhumed from the garden So many things kept in remembrance, but everything else removed. Erased. Deleted.
The house becomes an empty shell, devoid of anything that once gave it life or characterThe household is vanished…is now only a collection of memories.
For an entire summer it remains empty The familiar scents dissipate The trees continue to watch over it protectively and the wildlife roam the yard
Then a new family arrives with their possessions and their history…and a new household begins