letter to home

In conjunction with the Art House Co-op call for Letters to Home I am writing a letter to my childhood home...

I remember you. A small house on little street in an undersized town. There was never anything remarkable about you, yet as a child it was all I knew. Only later, as an adult with a broader range of experiences and perspectives was I able to view the contrast with that of the greater world.

Images come in quick snippets. Memories, good and bad. Details of avocado colored stoves and tiles, geometric fabrics on mini skirts, and hot toddy drinks with santa hats. Sounds of raised voices, I hide in the closet. Confusion and sprints to my grandparents next door. Broken glass and broken promises. A dog named Brady that simply disappeared. Watermelons and a black lab in the back of the car. What is it, or who is it, we're running from? Somehow we end up in the Hollywood hills throwing snails off of a front porch. Chinese restaurant, so exotic to me. Dark and mysterious, velvet on the walls. I never want to leave this foreign land. New faces, lost connections. Who will be the one? He replaces the other. Yet the replacement came after me. No belief. She tells me I lied. But always there was love in the arms of another generation. She protected me. She believed me. She loved me.

So you, small house where I lived. You did not protect me. You did not shelter me. You left me no memories worth keeping, no desire to return. The one next door, love. She did all for me that you did not. And now she is gone...