Rheinstein Windmill House Overlooking Ditch Plains in Montauk, NY ~Ben Kasazkow
If my childhood home could talk …
by Michael Escoubas
I’m more than a little disappointed
that no one comes to visit anymore.
Has everyone forgotten all the good times
we had? I know, I know, my paint
could use a touch up, and the chimney’s
crumbling mortar needs tuck-pointing.
But Gee Whiz, the times we had at dinner,
the dogs waiting under the table for scraps.
Mother’s chicken ’n dumplings boiling
on the stove … the laughing and games
when the whole family landed on my porch.
The secret hideouts where you kids played
hide and seek … “Here I come, ready
or not.” I still hear their happy voices.
I remember, too, the sad times, … when
Mother passed, and there was weeping
in the parlor, and friends came with dishes
and felt my embrace in the quiet space
near the fireplace. But times change,
we age; we live and love. Sweet memories
linger on … I’m simply the small corner
where they happened. The real house,
the most important dwelling, never was
my now crumbling frame. It was you,
the family I cared for … the human heart,
your hearth of love that burned so bright.
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