The Times They Are A Changin’

redhouse14

It was, really, a rather ordinary house. Small and sufficient. Big enough for him and for her and their children at some point, I imagine. Red with white trim. A small yard out back.

He would sit on the front stoop and wave if you happened to walk by — a neighborly greeting, no matter your relation. You would often pass her on the sidewalk on your way to the Post Office right next door.

Every year, the arrival of spring was broadcast up and down Park Place by the grand display of two magnificent magnolias. Standing guard at the front walk, their canopy enveloped the home in luscious pink blossoms. Their breezes whispered of age and history and time passing…

Today, a dumpster sits in the yard, overflowing. Sections of the linoleum she wore upon at suppertime, the wallpaper from the den where he read the paper, the staircase they walked each night, together. And on either side of the front walk, two lifeless stumps broadcasting for all to see — change.

A dentist’s office I hear. Bright and shiny. Antiseptic. Ordinary.


Poem from the archives, while I work on finishing my book. Words ©2009, Jen Payne.

IMAGE: Red House, Jack Bush, 1943


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