It was many winter's later
I encountered the house again

on one of my strolls
down memory lane.

It was true
what folks said.

The house had died.

It stood there
like a badly cut-out

silhouette against
a sunset

a child's eager idea
of what a house

might or
should be.

It looked now
like a house

on a movie lot
all front with no back

leaning at an odd angle
to the universe.

Oh it had stood its ground
against time

but its history
had evaporated.

It was a house
no longer constructed

of children's laughter
or a never-to-be-

...forgotten summer.

As if all the excruciating
piano practicer

hadn't tumbled out of
its front porch window

to torture a cat or
the innocent passerby.

Or where a first kiss
had been stolen

by its fairy story
white picket fence gate.

It was supposed to be
pulled down

oh years and years
ago

but

her its stood
like a grisly warning

that even
human memory

can die
in time

...in time...in time. . .

I shed a sentimental
tear( oh my my )

feeling like a two-bit
actress

in a play
she was not

the heroine
of

or like a snotty nose child
in a wonky school orchestra

waiting
all the performance

through

to hit
that tiny triangle.