You wander within
This lonely house
High upon a hill
As the rain comes down
Where jonquils
Glow among the weeds
On neglected formal
grounds.
It does not matter.
How you got in here,
As you pass through
empty rooms
Full of empty mirrors
The floor creaking at
your weight
Some doors are locked
And some are not,
These are the ones you
enter.
Rooms full of cobwebbed
paintings,
Books, furniture, and
toys
Pass before your eyes
Until you find yourself
wandering
As if in a dream.
The colors faded, the
walls
Are stained, and yet
you still continue
While glass eyes and
painted ones
Stare past your
dreaming mind.
The rain comes down
against the panes
In a soft and dreaming
patter
Blotting out the
killing sun,
In the old palm house.
The trees are gone, as
are the ferns
No orchids to be seen
As on a broken chair
you ponder
The names of colors you
can't recall
When all that's left
to you is red.
Outside the glass the
daffodils nod
Beneath the soft spring
rain,
Their color burning
bright,
Like a thousand fragile
earthbound suns.
You wander back through
this lonely house
Searching, ever
searching
For what you do not
know,
Nameless colors fill
your mind
You cannot let them go.
It's in the nursery
long abandoned
That you end your
search,
Within a dusty cupboard
sits
A child's forgotten
paintbox.
The colors dry and
shriveled up,
The brush a dirty
tangle,
Yet something tells you
this is it,
So you cradle it in
your large hands,
Back to the empty palm
house.
The colors wet, within
the gloom
They transfix your eyes
As you take up the
new-cleaned brush
And remind yourself, as
you paint
The nodding daffodils,
That red is not the
only color.
Author's Note: Irvingcliff was another one of those forgotten places that succumbed to the bulldozer in 1983. If you'd like to see some images of it, the book Phantoms of the Hudson Valley by Monica Randall has some lovely pictures and descriptions of Irvingcliff, and several other treasures along the Hudson River.