The old house

Many years ago the entire
dining room ceiling had fallen down
in one piece, it landed on the table,
the floor, the beautiful art deco sideboard,
the upholstered dining chairs and the cutlery,
so she just closed the door and
never went in there again.

A wisteria grew in through one bedroom
window, across the room and out the other,
on the wall behind it, holding back the
peeling paper was a framed photograph
of her as a young woman,
sitting on the running board of a
vintage Bentley with her pet leopard.

The whole house was like that,
full of hopes, cats, memories, leaks and ruin.

I went into what was once the garden
and found an area that wasn’t oppressed
and overgrown with trees, I lit a cigarette,
and as I inhaled I realized I was standing
right in the middle of the tennis court,
sycamores growing up through the tarmac,
and the fencing festooned with knotweed and ivy.

In a strange way it gave me hope.

29-6-11

fromagreenhill.com