Familiarity

Saying goodbye was the hardest

leaving the walls and corners

the old upright piano

-which was out of tune-

The creaky floors, the step by the door-

Who had caused many

to fear for their feet-

It felt so empty compared

to the many shouts and giggles

which my sisters and I

had caused in our younger days

Would any other place feel the same?

The cracked mud-red bricks

and the aching pale yellow plastic

would cast evening shadows

on the sturdy old trees

from which I taught myself to climb.

Would little girls ever stage a magic show

in the little yellow house

we called home?

Would a mother ever make her children

weed in the little green garden?

We had protected it from

pesky rabbits for so long.

Would someone else

take care to watch

as our little chickadee friend

grew? She would be a mother soon.

But so was the woman

who took our home

and her first little one had already

laid claim to my sunny yellow room

I helped her set up shop

with our old plastic lemonade stand

which I had washed this morning.

And everything went so quick

as if the whole house was ready

and telling us

Leave! Leave! Leave!

And we moved on.