Whitewashed House.

My house is all whitewashed
whiter than chicken bones left drying
in the noon day sun.

I was five –
when they set you to rest
but here, you still live
my overdue resident, of sometime past.
How many things do I need to remember
outside the love of a father and child?

I suffered from no preconceptions
A child never does –
you offered, and I melted like sugar
so all the children can sing, as we let
the sea wash over us.

On the day they buried you
I played – though never in fun.
I felt it was  better than crying
less to make those grown ups mad.
Someone stopped to touch my head
they seemed old
so very, very old
I remember thinking
no matter
how long you were dead – you would always be you!
never to be that way:
So I smiled –
as I painted my house white…

Poppy ~xx~

26th April 2014

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