Different spaces - different addresses -
for the most part - especially when I was older,
I could feel if they were a home or not -

I often wonder if the vibrations
of the past still sound and are felt
at times in the many houses ?
if a smidgen of DNA has survived,
somewhere, in some unpainted corner or crevice -

I still envision my places
as if they had not changed-
yet, new owners, new people
have invaded them -
painted the walls,
made their own stories -

One of the buildings, was demolished;
a Victorian style house,
probably a mansion when newly built,
I spent the most lonely school year
there as a student-

Across the large boulevard was a large convent,
with a tall black rusted fence around it
to keep everyone out -
in the winter, on the lonely nights,
when the snow was falling heavily,
I sometimes saw nuns dressed
in long flowing black coats,
walking against the winds in that lonely yard -


Where I lived, there was one loft like room,
a tiny closet like kitchen and
a bathroom with a window and a tiger claw bathtub-

I don't remember much -
I don't remember enjoying my time there-
enjoying much at all -

The break up had been hard- oh so hard-
even though I was not sure I did even like him -
he came over occasionally
and would play my alto recorder,
and hang out, as if he had no care in the world-

I was full of cares, and worries and confusion
and could not get comfortable, could not enjoy much -

There is an apartment hotel there now-
I bet the winds are cold and wild
around that corner-

the nuns are long gone -
the convent is now a college-
my sad apartment torn down -

I am left with the memory
of a sad young woman
looking out the window
in a snowstorm -

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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