An Elegy for my Childhood Home.

Today I peeked, two doors down from you,
at my neighbor’s house, which was demolished in 24 hours this week.
I tromped through the snow from you, through the Vlieks’ driveway, to gaze over the chain-link fence that I used to climb over
to shortcut the trip to visit members of the “channel mafia” (as my Aunt Joyce used to call them)
or to climb over to babysit and return home late at night (during which I would recite Psalm 23’s “even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” repeatedly to chase away the nighttime shadows creeping near me).
I gaped at the violence done to my memories
of summer time swimming in the pool Evelyn graciously welcomed us to play in as long as Mom came too
or of the plastic swing hanging from their tall oak tree we would climb on to soar over the yard and experience the freedom of flying
(even for just a moment, even if it was just a gift of imagination)
before climbing off and giving another friend or cousin or sister a turn.

We adults, now in our second half-century of living, roamed through you today,
recalling games of prisoner or zombies or island survivors
recalling lifetimes of living, leaving,
and going home again
down the same road for 50+ years.
We sorted papers and lifetimes and tears and laughter.

Since Dad died,
you seemed to be an insurmountable list of tasks.
Today, you seemed instead to be
too soon, too close, to being done.
You will become a place where I no longer will have the right to stop in at any time, be welcomed home to, and to belong.

Yet
I know you will remain lodged in my brain
and in my heart
(even if others own you
or tear you down
to make you their own).

You will be,
forever,
my childhood home.

thank you.