The House My Grandfather Built

The sky kisses the roof in a sherbert sunrise
bathing the red house on the corner
in brilliant yellow orange light
that makes the emerald grass glow neon green

is it the day of the yard sale?
smiling unfamiliar faces
buying snippets of my life
little chunks of memories
passed to others for the right price

or is the day I learned to drive?
as gathering storms swirled
in the dark gray skies
rain hurdling down
on a girl with a hummingbird heart,
shaking hands, and wide eyes

is it June of this year?
when we gathered over lunch
unable to leave unacknowledged
the fact that seats are now empty
and life has changed so much

I stare at the brick
and pick a memory to un-mesh
revolving around the homestead
on this Pennsylvania land
where I once stretched,
unable to reach the sink with baby hands

where I felt the burning smack
of spitting water on a sunburnt back
and tears ran hot with goodbyes
that I didn’t know would have to last until our next lives
Where I hugged the ones I loved for the last time
Before the clock swallowed up what was mine

it held my family
it took my heart
watched me grow tall
saw me depart
welcomed me back
like nowhere else on Earth can
this is the house my grandfather built
with his heart and bare hands