Let’s roam the house of my imagining —
A house that isn’t there
but only clods of earth and scraggle-grass
within a level square
that once held swings and sliding board enclosed
by picket fence, the backside facing in —
my Baba said it was against the law
to face the ugly side toward neighbors’ yards.—
We executed worms with garden shears —
as penance do I share this shameful thing —
and weaponized our neighbor’s concord grapes
that hung across the picket boundaries;
squeezed elfin-sized tomatoes — bitter juice
and purple flowers we didn’t know were nightshade.
Our house a castle was, the castle keep
my Nana’s kitchen, shining yellow and pink —
her ovens in high gear, the table set —
cut-throat canasta, coffee, bites to eat.
The kitchen led into the dining room —
a breakfront filled with Wedgwood, ruby glass;
a claw-foot table dark mahogany;
mahogany the little bric-brac shelf —
between the windows ruffled with chiffon —
held ivory rickshaw and Calico Cat.
I loved “my” lamp, the elegant little man
who graced the table near the reading chair —
his buckled shoes, his silver curls beneath
a gallant hat with plumes, and on his shoulders
a sweeping cape with china lace that broke
each time my Nana washed it. Sad for me —
she didn’t know I loved him — sad the day
I saw he wasn’t there. But let’s move on —
Let’s roam the house of my imagining...
Past hanging door chimes singing like Big Ben
whenever someone called. Climb up the stairs,
for at the summit in a golden frame
is Jesus praying on the mountaintop
to bless and welcome you, to send you on
to heaven, with three bedrooms and a bath.
The bathroom filled with tantalizing color —
with fixtures dusky rose, a checker floor
of muted green and red linoleum,
the walls with yellow tiles and tiles pale blue,
smelling of clean, of Lifebuoy soap and Zest.
A door led up to creaky attic stairs
that launched into a bifurcated room
with slanted ceilings, lit by hanging bulbs —
that held a fleet of forty model ships
in one side; in the other, cedar chests
that held our towels and linens. Happy night,
when Nana made our cedar-scented beds
so we could snuggle in them safe and clean.
Let’s roam the house of my imagining,
a house that isn’t there;
that isn’t anywhere on earth, perhaps
was never anywhere. —