THE HOUSE THAT REMEMBERED EVERYONE

THE HOUSE THAT REMEMBERED EVERYONE

At the end of the lane where the tall nettles grew,
Stood a house with a door that nobody knew,
Its windows were cloudy, its chimney leaned low,
And the garden remembered the people long ago.

The wallpaper whispered when nobody spoke,
The stairs gave a sigh and the old floorboards woke,
For houses remember the feet that have passed,
Though people move on and the years travel fast.

It remembered a mother who sang by the fire,
A father who mended each broken chair wire,
Three children who measured their height on the wall,
And a dog who still waited whenever leaves fall.

It remembered the Christmas when money was tight,
But somebody made paper stars late at night,
There were only two presents, some oranges and string,
Yet love made that little room richer than kings.

It remembered the quarrels, the slamming of doors,
The tears that fell quietly onto its floors,
Then footsteps returning before it grew dark,
And two sorry voices outside in the park.

One morning the family packed up and moved on,
The rooms became silent, the laughter was gone,
Dust covered the table, weeds swallowed the gate,
But the house kept remembering, willing to wait.

Many years later, a woman came by,
With silver in her hair and a tear in her eye,
She touched the old doorway and whispered, “It’s me,
The child who once climbed up that sycamore tree.”

The lock had gone rusty, the windows were bare,
But she felt all her family gathering there,
Her mother was singing, her father stood near,
And the dog’s little footsteps were all she could hear.

She entered the kitchen and stood by the wall,
Her childhood pencil marks were faded and small,
She placed her hand over them, trying to find,
The girl she once was, who was never far behind.

Then somewhere above her, an old floorboard creaked,
The wallpaper rustled, the tired chimney leaked,
But the woman smiled softly, for now she could see,
The house had remembered her whole family.

We think when they leave us that everything