The House

I always wanted

a little house by the seashore —

a house with a red roof,

a house built up on stilts

to make a cellar underneath,

big windows in every wall

for me to look out 

at the billowing sea

and the grass on top of the cliff.

I always wanted

a house on top of a cliff,

overlooking the sea.

And somewhere back from the edge,

behind it, there must be

acres of thick rainforest.

Maybe this house

is somewhere in North Queensland,

in a space I haven’t found.

Poor house, 

is it waiting for me?

When I built it in dreams,

did it grow up fully formed?

How long has it waited

there on the edge of the cliff

with the ocean below

and the forest behind,

The Green Grass of Home underfoot?

Poor house,

it has waited too long; it has crumbled.

I never went and found it

and now I am old.

The roof has lost its paint.

The steps to the front door

are falling away,

and the door itself is gone.

The wind blows through.

Perhaps it is not too late.

Perhaps one night, 

in the middle of a dream, 

I may rise;

I may follow a path

through wilderness,

guided by clouds.

With love, the old waiting house

restored, will welcome me in.

Image by contemporary American photographer Robert Dawson.

In view of the recent poetry plagiarism scandals in Australia, let me point out that the reference to ‘The Green Grass of Home’ is an intentional allusion to the nostalgic song (although in that case, the word ‘green’ is repeated).

Poetic Asides November Poem A Day Chapbook Challenge, day 11: ekphrastic poetry