OLD HOUSE

© RYAN GUILEY

The old house seems empty,

A lot of memories came to mind,

The smell of a kettle with cup of tea,

As there is nothing left behind.

The kitchen table where we sat,

The plates of pasta with sauce,

The hairballs from the cats,

It went quickly, as I had to pause.

The kitchen cupboards are gone,

On the very top were special plates,

I wish to fix it up with a magic wand,

To recall your childhood memories to date.

The expensive sofas in the front room,

Now, just a dark corner of dampness,

The smell of cigarettes from the fumes,

Bare floors are now just a huge mess.

But, I can still feel us glide and dance,

In the middle of the kitchen floor,

As I see those tight black pants,

And the tank tops that you wore.

It’s been a while, since I was there,

It happened on the avenue of Watson,

As, I felt your spirit so close and near,

With your dental tools and flossing.

One day, I will purchase it for you,

So we can give it to our children,

So three generations, can see the view,

Of how we sat peacefully in the den.

If I could just go back and re-live,

Not that I would change anything,

But old moments, I would give,

An easement to what it will bring.