Nana's House

The white Victorian on the edge of the green

gingerbread lace hanging from the eaves

veranda on the corner

neatly tucked in.

Enter through the red front door

you are welcomed,

wrapped in love, embraced by time,

these old things that once were hers:

that old rug, faded and worn,

that certain floorboard that squeaks and sets the tea cups rattling

in the china cupboard

when you pass by.

There is her rocker, empty now but still, I hear its distant music.

I know the yellow paint is peeling off the kitchen walls,

and views out these windows are wobbly from antique glass panes,

but, this room holds her presence,

—cooking at the stove

—feeding grandpa at the old gray Formica table

—preparing holiday dinners

—grading student papers in the evening.

Nana’s house is where we gathered

as a family clan so many years ago.

Now everyone has moved on

far and wide and involved

In their own lives

Yet we all have threads trailing behind us

and tying us back

to this old Home.

 ~Kathie Adams Brown (April 13, 2014)

NaPoWriMo 2015 / 30 Poems in 30 Days