House
the house isn't there anymore
torn down for a hospital carpark
the house they struggled, early on to pay the mortgage for
the house they raised five children in
it isn't there anymore
which can't be true
back-door key still on memory's ring
I know exactly how high on the wall
the kitchen light-switch is
I know which stair-treads creak
and how many steps it is
to what was my attic bedroom
now hanging ghostly in mid-air
and the careful, quiet slam you need
to close the bathroom door
I know the golden-brown shimmer
of the oak floors
just after waxing
I know the shade cast by the elm trees
before the blight cut them down
I know the gas-light burning
in the middle of the front lawn
surrounded by tulips, and, later, petunias
the garage door so difficult to wrench open the lilacs in spring, the acre of lawn to mow
the white ash tree towering, the apples, the cherries the vast prairie sunsets and the knee-deep winter snow
this corner of the car-park is so remote that no one ever parks here
let me build the house in memory's clapboards a firm foundation and a coat of white paint
I know that the shutters were blue
let's start with those
Lawrence Wilson’s fiction, poetry and essays have appeared in Albedo One, Agenda, Gramarye, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Stone, Root and Bone, Best of British, The Poetry of Roses, The Pocket Poetry Book of Marriage, The Pocket Poetry Book of Cricket, The Darker Side of Love, on Salon.com and in other journals and collections. His first two collections, The April Poems and Another April, are available on Amazon.