Grandma Lilas’s House

My family drove a rental car last winter

to a small house on a hilltop near a frozen lake

Inside there was no one we knew to invite us in

and no familiar face that gave us a wrinkled, pink-lined smile

Inside there was no lingering smell of coffee

and no ticking grandfather clock that greeted each hour

That morning I did not rush to the windows in that house 

to gaze at the snow dusted pines under misty skies

And that day I did not creep up its creaking stairs

to secretly indulge in sugary chocolates and treats

Time whispers the past of when I knew this as the present

The house where nothing memorable happens but remembering

Where the color and life left to follow Grandma Lila's

And one day I will follow her too