My Grandma’s House

That old house, I remember it well. The stone steps

leading to

the landing area with a small window, the morning sun

peaking through.

A closet right, the dining room left, where I had my eighth

birthday.

The kitchen where my grandma made popcorn

the old-fashioned way.

Through the kitchen, down the stairs, to the basement

we would run.

A pool table and ping-pong set, for us kids always

great fun.

Back up the stairs and out the door, to a backyard

swingset where

we pushed each other for hours on end. We didn’t have

a care.

Family would gather in the living room, in front of the old

T.V.

So many football and baseball games, with such great

company.

Uncles, aunts, and cousins. My sister, my dad,

and me.

Every holiday and birthday, this is where we’d

always be.

The back of the house was bedrooms, my grandma’s and

a guest.

A toybox filled with toys for kids, my He-man was

the best.

One more room upstairs, a room we’d never

see.

A room reserved for a brother who came and went

before me.