I remember you and me, we were children, a family of plenty,

Summer fun, swimming with our friends in the hot, endless sun.

Listen to your memories and thoughts, a day in your life, Yorba Linda,

There were sounds in the house, years of growing up, voices of change.

I can hear the seventies in my head, watch carefully, life of yesterday,

They echo, the voices from brothers and sisters, frozen in time.

There was a time when we were really there, a mother and father did speak,

What happened to their words, the sounds of their voices are so far away.

Sounds in the house were not always of peace and happiness, they were real,

Resentment towards one who did not want to listen, I did hear you.

I heard quiet sounds, sounds of love and pain, sounds that never go away,

Sounds of Yorba Linda that traveled through open windows of a long-ago house.

To a house at 19941 Fernglen Drive. 1972-1977

Keith Garrett


4 thoughts on “SOUNDS IN THE HOUSE

  1. This is beautiful, and meaningful, and carefully crafted to give us just a hint of the backstory. I have my own haunted childhood, a perfect one that my brother never could recover from, and he finally ended his memories by taking his life. Your poem somehow elicits those memories, although it’s clear our stories are different.

    Give your inner child a hug, but not so much resolution of those early dichotomies that you lose the impetus to write these beautifully conflicted poems. (Selfish of me, I know.)

    Thanks again for the poem. 160 Rosine Street and 1018 Canal City Drive.

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