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Painting the House

Here is an ode to my childhood home

By Cezarina TronePublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 1 min read
Painting the House
Photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash

Our house glowed in the sunshine

with a colorful smile passing over its stone veranda

while children's crystal clear voices plunged into the rooms.

Our house glowed waiting... Sunday's feasts, faraway guests

coming through my father's wood-carved door,

Our house glowed waiting for grandma's goodnight kisses.

And the whole world seemed to wait there for me too.

Flowing hair in the wind, we were running barefoot

in summertime, my little sister and I... racing on the river banks,

picking up medicinal flowers our mother needed for tea.

And we were bleeding from glass shards we stepped on

by accident in our chase after butterflies and plants, but the two of us

still laughing, hugging the afternoon with childlike skinny arms.

Blessed Romanian summers.

Dust rose from gravel roads behind each horse-drawn cart

and we watched the dusk blazing through fiery woods on our way home.

And our house glowed at nightfall when we came back through

the wooden gate creaking, and the old dog growled and jumped with joy,

jumped into our arms. Our house glowed waiting beyond the seasons

dragging on its roof. Beyond time.


A little sidenote: this poem was written back in 1995-1996 when I left Romania at age 19 to elope to America and marry my first husband. I was missing my childhood home although I was so excited to create a new life for myself. These verses still hold an emotional charge now (at age 46) and everytime I read this poem, I realize how precious it is to bring these memories back home... in this infinite moment.


About the Creator

Cezarina Trone

Writing a new world into existence, bringing magic, ease & wholeness to others 'making them light up from the inside'. Apart from writing, I dedicate all my time facilitating sound therapy and quantum energy sessions: www.cezarinatrone.com

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