within three violent days of desecration,
the house next door was completely gone
- now a non-narrative of airy dampness,
loose earth, rocks, and broken bricks...
christmas colours before the denudation -
and 60 years of a family's history reduced to
tossed out rags and shattered glass,
twisted metal and crushed plants...
a house so cherished with handbuilt attainment,
faithfully maintained through the seasons -
the love red paint on cupboard doors and trims,
worn adirondack chairs and aging hearts...
the rolled up vinyl mat that covered the back perch,
tossed down to question the endless null and void
- the lives forever lived, the memories neutralized,
the dreams evaporated, the voices silenced...
like a screaming pot, the chimney flue lies in vain,
no more secret papers smoking through its hollow
- it will soon be buried with the porcelain bowls,
the faceless mirrors and the most inconsolables...
a small house of feasts and fissures,
a quiet house of desert photos and soft cacti,
of silver souvenir spoons and old board games,
played out on the lifespan of a round table top...
so many hours and days and years assigned
to the timely tending and the feckless defending -
and then it is all over, move over and out,
out of near sight, not even the hatchet remains...
the 100 year old cherry tree in the backyard
reduced years ago to double doubtful trunks -
still reached for the wintry skies, yet knowing
it will never see the spring again...
a christmas epilogue to 1645 east 14th avenue, home to the mcmurray family for sixty years