Walking Through Walls

(replacement house after fire)

This new house is a skeleton on another skeleton. 
It’s as if the old house still exists in this space.
I walk through its walls.
I stand in the bedroom beside the old bed. 
If I close my eyes I can look out of the old window 
at the vibrant plum tree and into the eyes of cattle 
that have since become meat. 

It’s odd. 
The memories dissolve into reality:
the cool concrete underfoot
the quietness of double glazing and fine joinery. 
The wind flutes across the chimney
louder and longer than the old one. 
It’s a sad sound, like mourning. 
Well, of course there is mourning. 
That prior life is just below the surface of now, 
all the lost things, the sunlight 
on the bathroom wall, for example. 

But, lets face it, 
it was trouble, that old building, 
with its moving joints and broken things.
This new one is attaining soul 
slowly but surely. 
One makes a home by sleeping there.
And the presence of the old building, 
its warmth, and the love in its crevasses, 
are still there, just out of sight 
and sometimes, I walk through its walls.

Afternoon light, bathroom, old house
Petals on floor, new house
Morning light, old house
Erma and my shadow, morning light, new house

14 thoughts on “Walking Through Walls

  1. Lovely, Belinda. There is so much underneath what we see, so much more we carry within that no one else sees unless shown. Thanks for showing.

    1. Interesting way to put it and so I had the urge to look at the etymology of ‘haunt’ and got this, ‘ early 13c., “to practice habitually, busy oneself with, take part in,” from Old French hanter “to frequent, visit regularly; have to do with, be familiar with; indulge in, cultivate” (12c.), of uncertain origin, perhaps from Old Norse heimta “bring home,” from Proto-Germanic *haimatjanan “to go or bring home,” from *haimaz- “home” (from PIE root *tkei- “to settle, dwell, be home”).’
      So yes, haunted!
      Don’t you just love words?

      1. I do indeed, and I too often go straight to the dictionary. I remember reading a quote, from someone famous no doubt, that poets more often than not, go to the dictionary to look up words that they already “know” than words that are totally unfamiliar, to learn more about their links and roots, the little tendrils they send out into the language.
        Yes, I do SO love words.
        I think they were my first love….

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