The House

Tear through all my memories.
Go on, rip them apart.
I can’t wait to leave this place.
This is my chance for a fresh start.

There’s nothing here but heartache
And ghosts of tragedies we’ve faced.
I’ve already got one foot out the door,
I’m so very ready for this clean slate.

So, sure, I’ll tell you about this house.
For me, it never really was a home.
Maybe for you, it will be more
Than just wood and steel and stone?

Yes, right back here is the garden
My grandma loved it so
She worked so hard and I’d help
Pick the string beans and tomatoes.

But, yeah, that was just a small part
Of the life that I lived here.
Though that one was a good memory
Mostly I only remember the tears.

Oh, you want to see the basement?
This is where my Mom and grandparents made
Fresh tomato sauce with those from the garden
And jarred it up for later days.

And here is where grandma taught me
How to make fresh pasta from scratch with dough.
Mostly I’d just play with mine,
But she said I’d be her helper when I was grown.

And this is where we’d celebrate
Thanksgiving every year.
Actually, wait, can you hold on?
I think I have a video of it here…

And this is where I used to sleep
And the foghorn lulled me into rest.
It’s really lovely to grow up by the sea and…
Wait, what is this feeling in my chest?

Was I wrong? Does this place mean more to me?
It IS the only house I’ve ever known…
Twenty-nine years of hopes and fears
Built to pick up and move on with the seeds we’ve sown.

Yes, most of the things I remember
Are things I would much rather forget.
But now I see good memories
Are strewn about with all the rest.

So, goodbye, old house of mine.
I hope your new people treat you right.
This is where the people I loved most lived.
This is where I built my life.

 

Jack Mason, 2017
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