3552 400th Street

It seems kind of silly
To miss the flowerbeds,
To miss the yard
Where I chased the dog,
To miss the dandelions
I'd pull up to earn nickels.
 
It seems kind of silly
To miss the tree
I’d play in during summer,
To miss the garden
Where I’d help pick yummy food,
To miss the clothesline,
And the overalls blowing in the wind.
 
It seems kind of silly
To miss the old ramp
That we only ever used for shooting things off of,
To miss the crick
Where I sailed zucchini boats,
To miss the path through the cornfield
Where I rode the four-wheeler over the bumps
And held on to a squealing niece.
 
It seems kind of silly
To miss the garage workshop
The boys' domain, Grandpa their chief
To miss the golf cart,
To miss the tools, the tinkering,
That brought so many smiles
To beloved faces.
 
It seems kind of silly
To miss the house
With its three guest rooms,
To miss the wrought-iron
That said "Bidwell",
To miss the upstairs closet filled with blankets—
The perfect place to hide and seek,
Even when you got caught right away.
 
It seems kind of silly
To miss the porch
Where Grandma and Grandpa used to sit
And rock in the glider with their coffee;
To miss the table where we played
Our Sunday Scrabble games;
To miss the bang-bang shoot-‘em-ups
In the background as we talked.
 
It seems kind of silly to miss all that;
After all, it’s only a house.
But that house sure seems like a part of me—
A place made up of good memories.