The House Next Door

The House Next Door

    

       by Edmund Siejka

Some of the neighbors

Complain about the house across from me

It stands apart

From the neat lawns

Wide driveways

And picket fences.

 

Some say

The people who live there

Inherited the house from their parents

Years and years ago

When the area was marshland

And it was common to see

Hunters and fishermen.

 

A winding street

Wide enough for two cars to pass

Serves as a boundary between us.

 

The house once had a broken window

A gaping hole

That gave the house a reckless character

Like the missing front tooth

Of a mischievous young boy

Now it’s been covered by wood

Nearby, inexpensive white plastic chairs

Thin, stained and unused

Line the side of their house

Inviting phantom guests

To sit down.

 

In the upstairs bedroom

A curtain drawn as blinds hangs

Brightly colored

Defiant in the face of poverty

Inside a girl hides a diary from her parents

And dreams of the day when she is grown up

Young lovers kiss in the darkness

A hungry baby’s whimper is heard in the night

A radio

Left out on the front stoop

Plays a familiar song

To an empty street.

 

The people living in that house

Are proud

Keeping what they have

Admiring their courage

I ask myself

Who am I to complain?