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there was the scent of citrus
among the ivy, curling ‘round
the dark tall trees
the day we re-discovered
that life-size dollhouse

summer sandals and long braided hair
swung sideways with our smiles
on that tired old swing
and out eyes sparkled through
those dingy windows
lost in the joy
of our own pots and pans

all the while the grownups laughed and sighed
as they said
that’s where we used to play

their recollecting gazes causing smiles to grow
as we mirrored what was
(once again)

not a summer day passed
without our familiar footsteps
(always finding their way to the pool)
plastic yellow rafts became our pirate vessel
accompanied by shouts and laughter
as we dove into the moment
(needing only imagination)
and grandpa’s smile reminded us
we had so much life
left to live

innocent curiosity
guided us from room to room
(through and out and under and over
that house, that the generation before us
called home)

Chinese checkers and Asia’s mountainous slopes
of pillows
dark hallways and still decorated rooms
through the barber shop
and among the picture frames
all you had to do was push just right
and that fire extinguisher
would open that
secret door
to the spiral staircase

(while all the while you
were slowly spiraling
into a world unknown)

so we would climb down
into your nautical world
of pictures, sounds and treasures from the sea
pressing our hands to the glass
and waving to the other side

(underwater swimmers waving back
as our eyes would almost catch
the sight of mermaid scales)

and after dressing down in old navy uniforms
(that he wore, somewhere overseas)
we’d run up a second staircase
tumbling out of the closet
laughing – since we knew
we could always hide away
from the world
if we so chose

all those nights under covers
camp outs, and the place
we called each other family

that white dollhouse paint
peeling ever so slowly away
as we outgrew our shoes
(but never our sense
of wonder)

and that summer came
when our footsteps couldn’t find the way
(since there were too many tears
and not enough time)

you left us that December
1:11 was too late
(since your breath bid goodbye to the world
at 1:10)

and all our dollhouse days
freeze framed in pictures
and moments that came and went
collided together
in a spark
of a life that once was

(you had wished me well that September
when I didn’t know it was the last time
I would hear your voice)

and the black will catch
our falling tears
as we wonder what will become
of the place that we call each other family

and our life-size dollhouse dreams

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12.12.07

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…R.I.P. Grandpa…