The Past of here and now
Recently l went back to my childhood home which was for sale. It was a deluge of senses, experiences and memories, some of which belong here.
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| Hallway |
feet upon the cold walls scuttling along with gravity defied, hand, foot, hand, foot, home alone and black marks like tracks, evidence, the race or dance depending on perspective like baby spider people, like the thrill of the fall
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Sliding doors
the world unbalanced and grip could not right the wrong like the earth moving under your feet with no stop, disorientating bumps and knocks, the sound of the glass flexing with strain and someone groaning in desperation then footsteps and the crash of the backdoor, commotion, breathing coming in heavy gasps while fingers knotting together roll around with helpless non comprehension and new knowledge about the weight of not understanding………………...no goodbye
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Bedroom
upon the wall she was reading a bible with fat cheeks scorched baby pink watching over till a dog, huge graceful and grey clears the rest, jumps right over in one leap, through the open window then off down the hallway, pushes through the backdoor with a swish of straw and is gone
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| Pantry |
etched with no recall of how though the marks belong in a space of the dark nothingness like being at the bottom of a pool, trying to remember, food? storage? in any other place tears or fear but now removed within a frame, a lost place with no name but marks, physical
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Backstep
sit, hair brilled down shiny and smile recognizable only in a box yet strangely frozen, time spent as evidence, smells of wet dog and laundry detergent, worn and rusted mingle with human odor at once secure yet terrifying held up to the air, balancing like something strange and wondrous without drama, something like love |
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Side
“I will if you will”, the smell of grease and engine parts and the promise of experience combine and entice to explore in innocence and play without knowledge or experience, only curiosity, then the call, “You bloody!” and hot flush to reveal what occurred and how different angles refract a single experience
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Back Fence
wont give it back, red faced and defiant, waving arms in the air and a smell of age wafting in frustration and holding it close as if possession is ninth tens, red faced, ruddy, running wet with wanting and waiting, always waiting |
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Veranda
unsteady and rollicking loud with intoxicating steps and laughter of many all crossing the green when ‘oh no’ and off as spikes pierce, the succulent numbed by frivolity, more laughter and groans, no pain till the morn |
Glimpses cira 1970-80
