August 14, 2010

Her House a Home

She lived on the other side of the tracks,
the side filled with trailer parks and doublewides,
rusted old cars sitting in front yards
that could hardly be called lawns,
a mess of dirt roads and crumbling streets,
not really a neighborhood, but a
jumbled up bag of multi-colored jelly beans.

She lived across from a vacant house,
with its windows boarded up and
weeds hiding a broken chainlink fence,
hung with a "No Trespassing" sign that
didn't really keep away stray kids and kittens.

She lived in a rented one-story fixer-upper,
with a roof that leaked and floorboards that wobbled
and doors that didn't quite fit the doorways,
with gutters and shutters hanging loosely
and a mailbox that never stayed on its post.

She lived in a run-down place, but she was
richer than if she had a millionaire's mansion
with antiques and servants and manicured lawns,
for her house was bright with smiles and laughter,
her kitchen was warm with love and kindness.

She lived on the other side of the tracks,
but by her heart, her house became a home.

2 comments:

  1. Great "picture-painting" with words - ended a little abruptly/awkwardly - could you maybe draw out the "home" part a little more?
    Sounds a little like my my neighborhood! ;)
    Good job!

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  2. Thanks for the suggestion Patty. I'll work on it :) This was something that was rolling around in my head last night while I was unsuccessfully trying to sleep through the thunderstorm... a bit descriptive of our area as well, with a bit of poetic license of course.

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