Houses Dream Too

 Mother said, "Why?"

I said, "Sometimes a place just talks to ya. That porch."

"You can't let him play out there alone anyhow," she said.

I knew that. I knew everything she knew. She made sure of it.

I liked the historicity of it. 

Not specifically the sagging floors or the jungle outside.

It was fine though.

A porch like that, a stoop they say, is meant for generations.

There will be chairs, benches, toys, plants, food, living, on that porch.

Windows. Lamps. Stories in the stories.

"Let the old house dream one more time," I said.

"Have it your way," she said, "you always did."

"Yes, Mama," I said.

🤍