Musings From a Quiet Old House

  • February 11, 2021

my grandmother lived in a quiet old house

hidden on an infinite road of wooded green

sleepy mist often hugged its walls

we would visit each month

and my brother and I would run around playing

painting the grey halls with colorful laughter

when our wave of excitement subsided 

I would lay on the soft carpet of the living room

and stare at the vase on the wood table

in this teal vase was a small bouquet of roses

roses with evergreen stems 

and petals as soft as a butterfly’s wings

sunset pink and yellow 

too delicate to touch 

pastels within a faded room 

their silence astonished me 

they never seemed to move 

no matter how much I looked at them

every time we returned

they were on the table of the living room

peering from their porcelain home

my grandmother lived in a quiet old house

when she left 

we packed up her belongings

and I realized her favorite roses were plastic

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