sonora2sonoma

Standing (still) across the narrow street

From my parents’ house

Just as it did in my childhood,

Only now abandoned, decrepit,

Fallen way past disrepair

And awaiting a purported

End date

That seems forever forestalled

By life’s little exigencies—

Destruction permits, unforeseen developments

And other assorted Coyote tricks,

Bertha’s house,

Having outlived its purpose(s),

Hangs around ghost-like, looming,

Too caught up to notice,

The show ended years ago. 

 

Bertha’s garden, like her house,

Was humble but orderly,

Tended with the stern kind of love,

That doesn’t tolerate exuberance.

Bertha’s house,

A happy place!

Provided shelter

Nurtured a loving family,

Sights set on a happy future;

A son to carry on

The family name.

Those hopes were brought to fruition—

A college graduation,

A budding career—

A promising marriage, children,

Raised in a distant enclave,

Followed by years spent

In professional pursuits

And then retirement—

Those golden years

Now turned to dust,

The hopes and dreams

Of three souls, United in family,

Now United in death,

All three souls now departed,

Off to explore

That other place

Beyond toil,

Where Joy, sorrow

Or surprise

Are no longer relevant

And where expectation

No longer drives

The narrative.

Tim Konrad

June 8, 2021