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Thursday, September 18, 2008

house: a (tiny) memoir


Every year an airplane low in the sky, and my father knew. Every year, the same man would come farm to farm selling aerial photos of homesteads, that you could even get framed; great pictures to hang over the mantle. The 1974 shot still looms large in the front porch, showing previous open-porch, the machine shop being built, and the red pick-up I loved, before he traded to blue. Wooden building upon building that stood still in the yard from his father’s time and before, including old machine shed where his heated now stands, and the husk of chicken coop, which even, at that point, hadn’t seen more than pigeons for years.

house: a (tiny) memoir

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