A watercolor from the poet’s childhood home. (Painting by: Jim Blanchard)
“The Dream House Of My Childhood”
In the dream I find myself on the sidewalk
standing before my childhood home.
I hope the new owner will come out
and invite me in for a tour.
I remember how every nook, corner,
and cranny was once filled with meaning.
I wonder how the house will affect me now, fifty years later
and a long way from the luxury in which I was raised.
Two workmen emerge from the front door
pushing a dolly laden with things to be discarded.
I move closer to get a glimpse of the entryway.
I expect to see the sweeping stairwell, the marble floor,
and the crystal chandelier just as I remember them.
Instead I find myself drawn into a large, airy, sunlit space
filled with plants and almost nothing else.
I long to know something about the person
who would choose to live in a place so appealing to me.
Then I hear movement and decide not to intrude.
Quietly slipping away I swallow my frustration
until I wake up to realize that I am the new owner…
The one who made the dream house of my childhood
into a place where I can be truly me.