by Beverly Mach Geller
Old house, embraced
by your yard, you have
grown old along with us.
Carved from our farmland
your street, Philyet,
bears the name of my parents.
We chose your oak floors
painted your walls green
planted the elm tree
that towers over your garage.
You sheltered our eldest, Janice,
now a grandmother,
The Beatles’ songs
still embedded in your walls,
dancing feet echo
from the floorboards.
Remember
Philip at three,
bare but for high boots
wading in an outdoor puddle,
or pumping on the backyard swing,
his Collie, Criss, waiting.
Our youngest, Robert, now the father
of a daughter, twin sons,
started a vegetable garden
with carrot seeds in his sandbox.
The birch tree he dug from the woods,
patriarch to a stand of birches.
When your door opened at seven
their dad surrendered
to hugs, tugging, giggles,
guessing which pocket
held a surprise,
the kitchen’s warmth, dinner’s aroma.
Your yard
whose soil we turned,
still holds the promise of daffodils
transplanted from the roadside,
sweetness of red roses
nurtured from mail-order twigs,
each fall’s yellow chrysanthemums
a birthday surprise,
and what were verdant saplings
now aged pines laden with snow.
Beverly Mach Geller is a graduate of Syracuse University School of Nursing. She earned a BA in English from Rutgers University and an MA from The College of NJ. She is the author of six books for children and her poems have appeared in many anthologies, including the Kelsey Review, Delaware Valley Poets, New Jersey Poetry Society, and U.S. 1 Worksheets. She has lived in Mercer County for over 70 years.
