Heath Creek House
The white gambrel house on Heath Creek Road
with the big Maple tree out front
that I would climb up as far as my bravery would take me.
Sitting on my perch, like a robin,
watching my little world from above.
The robin flying off, jumping down from the branch.
Soft, pillowy grass below catching my wingless fall.
Running inside through the glossy red front door
with eight small panes of glass
and up the narrow staircase to my bedroom.
Pepto Bismol Pink walls, nauseating to most,
magical to me.
Sliding back down the stairs,
into the little galley kitchen housing
my mother’s chicken collection,
and a pot of her love simmering on the stove.
Out onto the pain chipped deck, and into the backyard.
My childhood kingdom where I spent all day
ruling over my swing set castle,
making mud pies, climbing on rocks,
tirelessly jumping on the trampoline
with neighborhood kids until the sun went down.
That’s when my father gets home from work,
and lights a fire
that warms the entire house.
Immersing my family in warmth and safety,
sitting together, eating dinner, playing board games
in the pinecone stenciled living room.
I remember every inch of that white gambrel house,
every memory still vivid in my mind
always holding a place in my heart.
It still stands, giving love and life to a new family.
But I hope, within its pine walls, it remembers me too.