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a tribute

October 20, 2012

several years ago

i used to walk early in the mornings

around a neighborhood park

that was once the site

of the boulder county fairgrounds.

every morning i would walk past an empty little house

that sat in the middle of a block of dilapidated houses

slated for demolition.

this particular little house tugged at my heartstrings

for no reason that i can identify,

and i began to construct a story

in the form of a poem

about the history of this house.

the poem literally wrote itself,

and i began to go back to the house later in the day

to document it in photographs.

this i did for several seasons.

one night in 2009 i felt compelled to put the story in book form,

sat down at the computer, and self-published a small blurb book

to assure myself that the story would not be lost.

of the ten i published,

nine went to family and friends

and one has been sitting on the shelf of my secretary

amidst other projects that have come along since then.

today i received the news that the little white house

no longer stands.

in tribute to the little white house,

i share the story now with you.

postscript:

the line about replacing the window pane was written before i ever

attempted to take photos through the windows

and discovered the broken pane of glass

laying across a small table,

the only piece of furniture that had been left behind.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. October 28, 2012 6:09 am

    This brought tears…I think houses hold so much more than the sum of their contents, than the things in the walls….my sister is in love with a house in her city of residence: the woman who lived there with her husband bequeathed it to her neighbor when she died, instructing that no one would ever live there again, that the earth would reclaim it. Slowly it is doing just that, and oh my sister pines…
    xoxo,
    A

    • sassysistersink permalink*
      October 28, 2012 4:23 pm

      oh, yes. buildings with a history always intrigue me, especially houses. the intimacy of the lives lived within those walls seems to echo out to me in sounds inaudible to anyone else– the clink of silver on china, the scratchy music from a needle following the grooves of a record… it is such a romantic notion that the earth reclaim a much-loved home along with the echoes of the lives lived within it. thanks so much for sharing this story. xoxo j.

  2. sageandspirit permalink
    November 7, 2014 6:47 pm

    So sad and yet so beautiful. Houses like this speak to me, draw me into their story. I fall in love with each and every one.
    I am so glad to see you feel the same, that you preserved a little of this house forever. xx

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