By Michele Spector
Motley shingles of grey adorned Grandpa’s house,
Out back old plum and peach trees were laden with ripe fruit,
A ’53 two-door Cadillac Coupe was a denizen of the front yard,
Testament to his major preference for huge cars.
The bannister was occupied by Salvatore, his favored silver tabby,
And a great lover by my Grandma’s basic accounting,
He sired two decades of litters born in the huge wooden shed,
Sally, as he was called, marched or walked,
Orchestrated by Grandpa’s index finger,
At the peak of too many stairs for my little legs to mount.
The cellar underneath possum and raccoon co-inhabit,
With two small rabbits, one black, the other white,
Late one night we were snuck in to peek.
The store attached to his house confronted the street corner,
It brimmed with trinkets from The Great Depression,
Which sat on shelves enclosed in the same musty boxes.
Grandpa emerged from this mysterious doorway,
And clutched a windup doll beating on a drum for me,
Cars and trucks for my younger brother.
After I outgrew his heartfelt gifts,
I was given brilliantly striped socks,
Pippy Longstocking was the probable first owner.
Rodin’s Lovers graced the living room mantle,
Where my uncle’s piano sat next to the kitchen entrance,
And a bathroom whose tub crouched on lion’s feet,
While male relatives by automobile forum bonded,
A conversation instigated by my Dad, a confirmed expert.
Precariously I sat on an immense rocking chair,
That threatened always backwards to go over,
Upstairs in my other uncle’s tiny room,
Surrounded by Chevy car plastic models.
Even as I write down this older poem it evokes such strong memories. I am there again, summertime. I can’t wait to climb that huge staircase, greet my grandparents, and endure their huge hugs and kisses. This poem was a couple of years in the works. I had only divorced a few months ago when a friend invited me to go to the movies on my birthday. It was early February afternoon which turned out to be the coldest, windiest day of the year. The movie was Nobody’s Fool starring Paul Newman. In one scene Paul Newman ran after his friend whose feelings he had hurt. He sat next to him behind this one house. It had the same shingles as my grandfather’s. I was hit with such a wave of nostalgia, that tears ran down my face even as the wind stung my cheeks. As we ran to the car, my friend asked me, “Why the hell are you crying?” I thought it was just getting over the whole divorce. It wasn’t. I was remembering my grandfather. That feeling lingered for a long time. A few years later I watched the same movie and again felt those feelings emerged. I wrote a poem just to purge my system. I showed it to my brother. He said he hadn’t thought about that place in a long time and this brought it all back.
I gave this poem to my father on Father’s Day a few years ago. It sits framed over the fireplace.
Do you remember your grandparent’s house? What treasure trove of memories does it hold for you?
