If only the sun could shine as bright outside as the yellow curtain that radiates in the steam of hot showers. Barometric pressure falling for ease of breath. Fearing daily routines and obligations, while searching to find a place to ignite the creative spark into flames.
The house transforms daily. Exterior worn by weather, stripping of paint. Molding gnawed by squirrels teeth. Broken windows taped with black duct tape to retain stability and resist wind. The framing creeks, and stairs sound when walked upon. Hardened orange glue coats the shower walls, protection against water damage. Light shines through frosted windows, muting and comforting the imperfection contained within. Shampoo and conditioner bottles line the shelf next to the tub. They aren’t designer, instead soaps and cleansers purchased on a budget. Beauty products retained since high school, with updated bobby pins and old glasses speckle the ambiance. Hot water from pipes cleanses and washes away the past. Brushes stick, putting everything back into place. The mirrors reflect the hope of possible change showing limitations in time. Gray hairs surprise the display, each earned and intimidating. Speaking of youth slipping, but the house doesn’t believe in such superficial notions.
Early 80s style linoleum, cream in color with browned diamonds, make boxed patterns. The tub is new. Installed specifically to sale. Incomplete and functioning. Three holes in the ceiling show peaping light from attic. A hidden place to explore, uninsulated, but curious all the same.
Spiders roam without fear or inhibition. Nights wakened by tickling legs on cheek, chin, and chest. They don’t admire the hardwood floors or victorian trimmed windows. They gravitate to travel across flesh, anticipating a treat of a hungry mosquito in mid bite.
The words asbestos and lead or used in the three stories. Ten foot tall ceilings and unlimited space take away all worry. Mannequin arms drape the floor waiting to lend a hand. Music fills each and every room by instruments and technology. One gas fireplace is the only form of heat for seven rooms. At night, sleeping bags and knitted hats are required. Socks to cover cold toes. Still, the coffee scenting the kitchen in the morning is inviting like a Folgers commercial at Christmas. Deer skulls ornament the shelves, a bright yellow daisy, the eye for one, trying to peer upon the rusting silhouette of a woman’s torso decorating the extend front porch.
1911 built and the home still expresses those contained within. Splashes of differing green on shingles, banisters, and trim. Three struggling individuals, building their lives through passions, desires, dreams. A location and time to repair, create, shape. A place to call home.
