It had been a lovely house,
With hip roof,
White-trim,
Red shutters,
& small porch —
Where Dad had coffee
On cold mornings
Before work.
Dad built the house,
With help from
Friends,
Family,
& four Craftsmen,
Whose skills
He could not emulate,
Even on his best days.
When finished
(though never truly “finished”)
This rugged rectangle —
Having emerged from 2x4s,
Siding, nails,
Walls & paint —
Lived, in its own way.
Until it didn’t.
That Wednesday night,
During the Christmas Eve service
At St. Mary’s Catholic Church —
Where Mom & Dad married,
& I was baptized —
We watched candles flicker
As the choir sang,
“O Holy Night.”
When we got home,
Fire trucks, police cars,
& concerned Neighbors
Surrounded the bonfire
Born from the shelter
That once housed
Smiles, laughter,
Love & family.
What had been life,
Was now dust, water,
Charred wood
& lost dreams.
Sometimes
Neither art
Nor life
Make sense.
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