poem: The House

Wounded pride; I crept to sleep to hide

And returned to the home I knew as a child.


The old place was as then

Every nook, every known creak sang silk to my soul

I heard mother, and father, and siblings, and friends,

And those gone to where I cannot dream them back.


I ‘d thought my heart hurt by the day just lived;

Far truer struck the hopes recalled

Fresh as the day first made and stored for future completion.


But as I wondered up stairs, through halls and rooms

That knew my caterpillar youth,

Something strange:

Something humming through walls

Something plunging through floors

Some deep sleep smell of mother’s neck,

And in the centre of the house a tree

Whose top vanished into sunlit sky.


Awake, I see:

The tree is me, earthed in that home.

The present cannot change what’s been

Or hurt the me transported back

By time-machine of dream.


I dreamed last night of the house where then dreamed the me now dreaming,

And awoke, and resumed becoming.

2 thoughts on “poem: The House

  1. “And those gone to where I cannot dream them back.”

    Such a moving line you’ve embedded in this sweet poem, Janet. It speaks to my recent loss of a colleague and friend. Thank you.

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