March 27, 2008
By Jimmie Morales, Globe, AK

Last night I saw my future
Of a house upon a hill,
Of smoke billowing from a chimney,
And snow on the window sill.
The footprints of little children
Where laughter filled the scene
By a tree that’s split in half
Where hangs a tire swing.
The leaves fall to the ground
Meer victims to the season,
With no birds to make a sound
or dogs to howl without reason.

My house was tall and strong
But empty none-the-less
And though my face was long
It stood out from all the rest.
The frame had all its doors
Every window was intact
The paint, it did not chip
and the wood, it did not crack
All the windows where in place
In perfect condition on the pane,
Though the shingles are discolored
on the roof is where they stay.

On the inside of this house
It makes for quite the scene,
Every wall a different color,
Every crack and every seam.
Every picture on the wall
Displayed a different face
Entrapped inside its frame
Displaced memories to erase
At the center of this house
A lovely crafted chair
The seat was draped in scarlet
And all the wood was bare.

To the left side of this chair
Was a journal on a table
Etched inside its pages
Whether memories or fables
Was ornately styled writing
To which no one could ever read
But if you could understand
This book would only lead
You right back threw the halls
Past the pictures and their frames
Past the different colored walls
And the windows and their panes.

To the outside of this house
Where the dogs you couldn’t hear
To a deeper hidden image
Of me looking in a mirror.
Where the details of this house
Are just brilliant metaphors
Of a man described inside but,
no one makes it in the door.
No one knows what is inside
No one will get to see
For all the windows are opaque
And the locks do not have keys.

The doors have been slammed shut
and all the footprints lead away
Threw all the snow and leaves
never leading threw the gate
They have never turned around
Nor do they stop or stall
They always disappear
Without a pause or halt
So the house begins to fade
as the snow begins to fall.
Like it never did existed
Not a little bit…Not at all…

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