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Calling to me From the House
by Ken HarnischYou call to me from the house
And for some reason I am reminded of
Countless books and movies from
My youth, where young Tom was
Out in the woodshed, puffing on some
Forbidden cigarette
Frightened of, yet frenetically energized by,
His mother’s voice
In the morning
I blackened the apertures with tar
So the wasps could not get in.
But neither can the light,
So though I hear your voice, plain as day,
It makes me smile
Knowing you can’t see me.
And while it’s been eons
Since I smoked, my heart
Is still beating madly
And yes, I’m scared,
But I find being lost
To your all-seeing eye
Quite exciting.
03/07/2008 Posted on 03/07/2008
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 03/07/08 at 05:23 PM It's one of those many instances of calls and memories that stick with you and evoke that physical reaction whether they are around or not that makes the past real and current...even during hard times and better during good. ~JPP |
| Posted by Julie Adams on 03/10/08 at 07:59 PM Hey Ken, there is something so clever about a poem that manages to offer a slice of life...I love what you have done here, this moment triggering another time, an era that can still tickle us now, as the ending suggests...a nice surprise to find on here today...peace n love, jewels |
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