Welcome Home (Memoir Project #3)

It is not the same now

The arms that held her are gone

But oh, in my mind is an echo defined

That somehow lives on and on

Cradled by two weeping willows

I thrived in their sighing embrace

Now the ghost-willow trees frame fond memories

Of my dear, unforgotten home-place

I cherish the humble brick dwelling

Of panel and paint decor

But the sweet echo of nine siblings I love

Drench the walls and the floor

The old wood-stove in the kitchen

Served as cook-stove, laundry and hair dryer

In the winter we woke to the smell of smoke

As mom rekindled the fire…

…and set the pot of oatmeal a-boiling

Ready for ‘farmer's’ breakfast at eight

Midst the chatter of those nine siblings I love

As we would argue, discuss or debate

Until Farmer’s firm, unchallenged ‘QUIET!’

Dropped the up-roar to a hush

And all that was heard was the slurp and stir

Of ten respectful children eating ‘mush’

I learned as a young teenager

Which steps to skip at late-night, cause they squeaked

But no matter how I would tiptoe or prowl

Somewhere an errant board creaked

…and casually at breakfast

The cereal box became a shield

Until Farmer cleared his throat, (we always looked when he spoke)

And the culprit was revealed

The furniture was scarred and battered

The rooms lived in to the max

But home was a place of learning and grace

Where we worked hard and where we could relax

Often in the evening it was quiet

As we set aside our work and our play

To find our own nook and curl up with a book

The highlight at the end of a day

© Janet Martin