The History House

by Amelia Doherty

I remember the living room,
the pale colours of furniture,
the blazing fire with
the intricacy of a mantlepiece,
the booming noise of a grandfather clock
the swinging and ticking and tocking

I remember the dining room
the long table with the small chairs
the vase that was cracked
the antique mirror to one side
the glittering chandelier
the painting of a pineapple

I remember the bedroom
the four-poster bed
the falling violet drapes
the gentle breeze through
the creaking floorboards
the dusty dresses in the wardrobe

I remember the kitchen
the stairs that led the way
the tiny storeroom
the huge chimney with
the spit underneath
the dead animals for dinner

I remember the nursery
the moses basket
the little wooden soldiers
the letters from a man in grave
the rocking chair I could see
the mother that sang there

I remember thinking about
the people left behind
the people up ahead
the people who are dead
the children that would grow
the children who would never know what

I remember