The Basement
The basement was always the quietest coolest room
In the house where we lived so long
The pitch of the roof always brought me regret
In the house where I lived so long
The kitchen though was full of energy and potential
Clocks on the wall tocking loud
The open bifolds to machines ready to go
Or always going moving shaking spinning
The windows to the deck, the door, the glass
Don’t look at them but through.
The door to the den, to the unused berry room
Loud talking voices with no escapes
The work swirls round the island in that kitchen
In the house where I lived so long
I often stared at the backyard, sighed at the space
Those untrodden trails, pebbles that never fell
Those pavers that held the Adirondack chairs
That never appeared at that house
The trees slowly died, sunshine fed the weeds
I vowed I would try, but life was inside.
The list grew long of memories and forget-its
In the basement, the art desk grew tall of undone
Still the coolest, quietest spot in the house.
But no matter how large I muraled the sun
The warmth and noise in the kitchen always won
In that house, the one where we truly lived.
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