Curtains
I always did like the way the afternoon light played in this room
where homemade gingham curtains danced on breezy afternoons.
I can still see her in her favorite chair, lost in poetry,
lazy Sundays spent with Ella, Edna and Emily.
The bookcases are empty now, the Greats condemned to boxes,
taped and marked for storage on a moving van to Lostville.
Always… seems such a long time
Always… everything good has to end
A fool invests in happiness
Seems like only yesterday, it feels like only yesterday,
this was our home.
The freshly painted walls where family pictures used to hang,
glossed over all our memories, it’s as if we never came.
Hollow footsteps echo from the ceiling to the floor,
these hardwoods were great for dancing, we had some good times,
that’s for sure.
Now the ghosts of fate and holidays will linger in this room
where homemade gingham curtains danced on breezy afternoons.
Always… seems such a long time
Always… seems like a dream to me now
As our home becomes a house
It seems like only yesterday, feels like only yesterday
this was our home.
You kill the roots, you kill the tree,
we scatter off like the falling leaves.
There ain’t much left much to say now, it all seems such a waste,
our names will be forgotten, sure as the locks will get replaced.
The roses in her garden will miss her come the spring,
the birds will come to visit, we won’t be here to hear them sing.
And I’ll never see the afternoon light quite the same from any room
as I slowly close the curtains on the life that we once knew.
Always.
© Kevin Higgins