I’m one of those people who can tell you from the bottom of a drive whether we’re going to buy a house. Hubby always says to me “will the fridge freezer fit in the kitchen or is our bed too big?” Just to have a polite way to say your house put her off from a distance of 20 feet. In this poem I’m obviously exploring that feeling. I wonder though if anyone reading this has ever bought a house that made them uncomfortable, and how that worked out?
The house that we want sits high on a hill Quietly proud and cautiously still It’s windows unconsciously looking at me They may not have a soul But I know they can see It feels as if something is scanning my mind Cautiously - curiously - slightly unkind X-raying my thoughts and my guile-less heart Searching for something to make us depart As I walk up the hill to the front of the house Wondering “will it be ours?” I feel the bricks tremble and know that it’s scared For when the door’s open its soul will be bared To step through the door is to feel what it feels Years of its knowledge and wheels within wheels This house understands everything it has seen And the bricks can recall all the people have been This house is alive No inanimate thing I can feel what it’s saying The song that it sings Of centuries past and lives lived Loved and lost Of the reasons for happiness And of the cost Of laughter and triumph both scattered to dust Knowing what mattered then is now not worth the fuss I feel it’s voice talking I sense that it cries And I know we will buy it I also know why Because I trust it to feel everything that we are And I know that our frailties will not be a bar To acceptance and joy and the life it imparts Yes we and this house will be joined in our hearts Deb Hawken 1990-something
Deb Hawken - Amorah 