A Sign

 October…
on a perfect New England Autumn day
was the last time I saw the house
perched on the edge of the planet
in all her grace and glory
before they demolished it.

We all knew it was coming.
The time when nature’s pounding would erode the bluff
wearing away at the land
until there was no where else for the houses to rest.

When I pulled the wobbly screen door open
and stepped into empty space it froze my soul.
The house had been emptied of all its touchstones.

All that remained
perhaps all that would truly chronicle the human presence within
was the patina of marks on the walls
the floorboards and the ceiling.

This painting looks from the main room
back through the tiny sleeping nook
through just a razor thin edge of the window
out onto the sun porch
where beyond
lies the view of Squibnocket Beach.

New nicks
and old adorn the lintel
from generations of foreheads
which bumped that coop-like low beam
where a hundred layers of yellow paint
outlined the symbol of a duck…reminding us to.

All these objects
and a hundred more …
they have been the keeper
of our memories.

The sunny days
the stormy nights
we grew up in that house
on the bluff
as she grew old
and… in her weathered-shingled way
became…
the things we are made of.