MY GRANDFATHER'S HOUSE clbracy-jacobs
(In my grandfather's house are many rooms;
there he prepared a place for me.)
Basement
rooted, damp, distant
cement womb in the ground
passages and skeletal rooms
a firm foundation
Do you remember . . . ?
Steps
wooden, narrow
watch your head
musty, old
leading to the hearth
. . . to the kitchen.
Kitchen
bright, sunny
windows, doors
long table, many chairs
white bread, lightly toasted, buttered, stacked
passed around.
laughter, jam, cinnamon
topped pie crust cookies.
baker apples pealed quickly --
each crunchy spiral, a tart, crisp treat.
Popsicle summer days --
sticky drippings between little fingers
purple trails down short arms.
Shadows live there . . .
how could you forget?
First floor all:
seven rooms, four closets
two staircases -- front and back
three long, lazy porches.
Living room
roll top desk
t.v., Gunsmoke
one couch, three armchairs
fireplace, Marcus Welby
goosebumps on children's arms
bed clothes and bunny slippers
tangled hair wet from the communal bath.
One Adam 12.
Was it yesterday?
Through the front hall closet
a hidden door
under the stairs
a garden of coats and winter clothes
muffled and magical
the moon can't see
two children laughing
whispered secrets, fingers touching
silken folds
hide and seek
one child searching.
Front staircase
elegant banister
dark, sleek, smooth
curled like a serpent along hallowed steps
forbidden rides when no one is watching.
laughter, running footsteps, echoing laughter.
Second floor
long corridor
many bedrooms
sleepy prayers quickly murmured
giggling slowly ceasing
night time stories on textured ceilings.
Will you one day sleep?
Boarder's rooms
no children allowed
bedroom, kitchenette, bath
a small, near forgotten door --
stepping stairs to the attic.
The attic:
mysterious
foreign, uncharted
wildly magnetic, earthy
treacherously banal --
could have been and someday
living side by side.
A childhood played on the first three floors . . .
a lifetime lived in the attic.