Auntie J inspired me to write a poem about our grandparent's house. Thank you for the inspiration Auntie J!
Love,
~Mommy M
REMEMBRANCE
VIVIAN & PAPA’S HOUSE
SATCHEL FORD ROAD
As you walk into the covered carport-
chairs where the “grown-ups” sit,
overlooking a wooded, mystical backyard,
where the girls play make-believe for hours,
beneath tall pines and holly trees.
Running across the wooden bridge,
under an archway covered in vines with yellow flowers.
Swinging on swings that Papa built in between two trees.
Sneaking around a metal shed storing buckets of worms for Papa’s fishing trips,
beside the tractor that took many trips around the lawn.
And then there’s the picnic table
on which summer meals are served on red plastic plates.
Walking into the kitchen-
wood paneling and a round table, filled with memories of
Ego waffles dripping in syrup with butter oozing out of every square,
melted Velveeta cheese on Doritos,
turkey and ham sandwiches with swiss cheese on rye bread,
corned beef and cabbage on fresh hamburger buns with Layes potato chips,
Oreo and Chips Ahoy cookies dipped in coffee ice-cream,
Cokes in glass bottles,
endless games of Uno and Connect Four,
and late-night trips to Piggly Wiggly.
The sound of a Grandfather clock in the den
Atop a book shelf that lines the back wall,
filled with books that tell of family history,
framed photos,
red cardinal figurines
and Southern Bell memorabilia.
An antique, wall-mounted AT&T telephone
makes for many fun pretend conversations.
And the faint smell of Vivian’s fingernail polish and remover fill the air.
As you enter the formal living room,
walking on the plush, mint-green carpet,
dancing ladies curtsy beside ornate sconces,
shimmering crystal, delicate china teacups, sterling silver and lace adorn
furniture Papa spent hours refinishing or making by hand.
At Christmas, the smell of pine,
red birds against the snow,
lights twinkling amongst beautiful crystal,
colorful ribbon candy inside sparkling dishes,
and china perfectly arranged on the dining room table beside tall, red candles.
Past the reflective, stained-glass door,
VIVIAN & PAPA’S HOUSE
SATCHEL FORD ROAD
As you walk into the covered carport-
chairs where the “grown-ups” sit,
overlooking a wooded, mystical backyard,
where the girls play make-believe for hours,
beneath tall pines and holly trees.
Running across the wooden bridge,
under an archway covered in vines with yellow flowers.
Swinging on swings that Papa built in between two trees.
Sneaking around a metal shed storing buckets of worms for Papa’s fishing trips,
beside the tractor that took many trips around the lawn.
And then there’s the picnic table
on which summer meals are served on red plastic plates.
Walking into the kitchen-
wood paneling and a round table, filled with memories of
Ego waffles dripping in syrup with butter oozing out of every square,
melted Velveeta cheese on Doritos,
turkey and ham sandwiches with swiss cheese on rye bread,
corned beef and cabbage on fresh hamburger buns with Layes potato chips,
Oreo and Chips Ahoy cookies dipped in coffee ice-cream,
Cokes in glass bottles,
endless games of Uno and Connect Four,
and late-night trips to Piggly Wiggly.
The sound of a Grandfather clock in the den
Atop a book shelf that lines the back wall,
filled with books that tell of family history,
framed photos,
red cardinal figurines
and Southern Bell memorabilia.
An antique, wall-mounted AT&T telephone
makes for many fun pretend conversations.
And the faint smell of Vivian’s fingernail polish and remover fill the air.
As you enter the formal living room,
walking on the plush, mint-green carpet,
dancing ladies curtsy beside ornate sconces,
shimmering crystal, delicate china teacups, sterling silver and lace adorn
furniture Papa spent hours refinishing or making by hand.
At Christmas, the smell of pine,
red birds against the snow,
lights twinkling amongst beautiful crystal,
colorful ribbon candy inside sparkling dishes,
and china perfectly arranged on the dining room table beside tall, red candles.
Past the reflective, stained-glass door,
my bedroom –
family portraits in wooden frames,
crisp, white sheets,
big, fluffy pillows,
and Vivian lying beside me waiting for me to fall asleep at night.
Vivian’s room-
a pink, velvet chair,
her beautiful jewelry and all of her cosmetics.
Papa’s room-
a desk with paperwork neatly stacked,
family portraits in wooden frames,
crisp, white sheets,
big, fluffy pillows,
and Vivian lying beside me waiting for me to fall asleep at night.
Vivian’s room-
a pink, velvet chair,
her beautiful jewelry and all of her cosmetics.
Papa’s room-
a desk with paperwork neatly stacked,
small safes and gun cases,
and his portrait of heaven against the wall.
And on the dresser,
their most cherished possession- the bible.
Worn leather, page after page filled with hand-written markings and notes,
from numerous sermons and bible studies.
Over time, this ranch-style, brick home has changed,
just as those have who grew up playing and laughing there,
but the memories will live forever.
and his portrait of heaven against the wall.
And on the dresser,
their most cherished possession- the bible.
Worn leather, page after page filled with hand-written markings and notes,
from numerous sermons and bible studies.
Over time, this ranch-style, brick home has changed,
just as those have who grew up playing and laughing there,
but the memories will live forever.
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