26, January 2004
Memories Of Home (Final draft )
The walls seemed to speak to us,
In those early childhood years,
It was more than the pencil marks,
That marked our growth,
On the yellow wall,
in the enclosed back porch,
And the rose wall paper in Nonna’s room,
( That showed Nonna’s love for roses,
And her sunny personality,
That as a child reminded me so much of the roses that adorned her room,
And her garden,
The rose wall paper was still in the room,
The day she died,
Faded and falling apart.
Other ways it spoke,
Was through the memories we made,
Sitting around the wood-stove,
On a red throw rug,
Marked with cinder spots.
The coffee table,
Where we spent so much time as children,
Playing word games.
On the dinner table,
Grandpa built with his own callused hands,
(A polished round oak table, )
Tasting Nonna’s Italian cooking,
The garden in the back,
Where as a little girl,
I helped Nonna dig,
And she would explain to me,
How things grow,
Memories of the one steady place,
I felt growing up.
The place that would,
Help define my future homes.