The last time I visited my father’s house
-the one he built in the village
as his lasting legacy,
it had morphed from a once-majestic
monument- into a decaying husk of rubble.
Covering my mouth as I walked the rooms
-there was still no escape from the musty
smell of dead moth’s wings …. and other things
My eyes picked out the paint peeling away from every wall- as though eager to reveal secrets hidden beneath.
Ghosts of memories walked with me.
Here was my older brother’s room- where he’d nearly blown his brains out.
He was only 5 years old and Daddy hadn’t locked his gun up- as was his habit.
What died that day was the wall on the far right- long since repaired – but probably still aching from the bullet wound.
Here in the dining room was where my eldest brother scalded his upper thighs with hot tea… he couldn’t walk for a week.
He’s long gone now- buried in South Africa’s soil.
This room was my big sister’s room. She always chased me away when I came to visit
She’s now buried on the grounds….
dust to dust
ashes to ashes
…. her face a distant memory.
Mum and dad’s room was just an echo of a previous life. Dad decided to join sis on the grounds….. but remembered to leave his powerful presence behind.
A house that holds this much power is difficult to revisit
It’ll be a long while before I’m strong enough to return
– if ever.
© Vivian Zems
December 12, 2019 at 8:44 pm
That must have been so difficult and emotional for you, Viv, the visit and writing about it.
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December 12, 2019 at 8:45 pm
I must admit, I shed a few tears 😔. Thanks Kim!
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December 12, 2019 at 8:46 pm
This must be my favorite of yours ever… such a painful read of all that is left… the memories in the decaying house. I would find it hard to revisit as well… a house like this is more than a grave, cause there you have lived…
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December 12, 2019 at 9:27 pm
This is powerful! Must have been hard for you to visit it.
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December 12, 2019 at 9:30 pm
Vivian, you are so right, houses do absorb energies from the previous dwellers in it. Sounds like each one of those memories would have been enough to handle at a time, but you were bombarded with all at once. {{{HUGS}}} Your poem carries much power with it. Maybe it is your last visit to that place is a healthy place to leave/end it.
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December 12, 2019 at 9:45 pm
We live in a home rife with spirits and energy of past residents. Much less now that we’ve been here 27 years.Your poem is so brave and personal, it touches all of us. It makes me wonder about the abandoned house, what’s the story of why it still stands?
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December 12, 2019 at 10:37 pm
This must have been difficult for you to re-live, experience and write about, Viv! Thinking of you. 🌷
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December 12, 2019 at 10:51 pm
A very evocative poem Vivian, so many memories echoed in the rooms, the paint peeling from the walls. It can’t have been easy to visit and if there is still so much energy there the space itself may need clearing and healing too.
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December 13, 2019 at 1:03 am
A tough write and my heart bleeds for the memories left behind. Thank you for sharing and wishing you a good week.
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December 13, 2019 at 3:17 am
Felt the feelings clothed in every description you have eloquently written. My heart was wrenched with yours. Particularly love this line: there was still no escape from the musty
smell of dead moth’s wings …. and other things
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December 13, 2019 at 6:40 am
Wonderful poem of ache and nostalgia. There are some things in life that leave such a lasting impression that we’d find it hard to move on if we revisited them.
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December 13, 2019 at 1:51 pm
So true, Nitin!
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December 13, 2019 at 7:55 pm
I really love the heartfelt and powerful words of this nostalgic piece. You have done a wonderful job of telling stories of a lifetime as you wander and wonder through your family home. Glad your little brother only hit the wall!
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December 13, 2019 at 10:35 pm
Thanks Dwight for your kind words. He’s my big brother- hale and hearty!
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December 13, 2019 at 9:02 pm
Oh wow. Beautiful and powerful.
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December 13, 2019 at 10:34 pm
Thanks Phillip!
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December 13, 2019 at 10:31 pm
I like your remembrance of visiting your father’s house and your description of the peeling paint “eager to reveal secrets hidden beneath”.
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December 13, 2019 at 10:33 pm
Thanks Frank!
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December 14, 2019 at 7:43 pm
Bittersweet memories. But wonderful to have a place with ties, to return to, to anchor you. (K)
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December 15, 2019 at 3:10 am
It sounds like the memories still haunt and it took courage to revisit this house. The reality of your share touches the reader in a deep way.
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December 15, 2019 at 4:43 pm
Powerful
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December 16, 2019 at 8:16 pm
Thank you 😊
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