Lit Mag Poetry

Grandpa’s Lake House

I stood in front of the rickety porch steps,

leading to a house lost in my memories.

Those were the steps that I skipped up so many times

after I sprinted across the lawn with excitement,

my little hands cradling a frog I found by the stream;


The steps that I would leap up, the first day of summer break,

while waving a flimsy piece of paper with my name scrawled next to a smiley face,

hoping to surprise you before you opened the door;


The steps that I first sat on where you taught me how to tie my shoes,

your hands like gloves wrapping around mine,

Two loops like rabbit ears, you would say, 

one on the top; one on the bottom


Yet when I stood in front of the rickety porch steps

The house seemed so unfamiliar

Those steps that I once marched up were no longer white

The was paint peeling; old nails jutted out

Even worse, there was a jagged hole in the middle of the porch step where we first sat.


If only I had the courage to go up those steps again

But instead, I continued to stand in front of those rickety porch steps, 

Hoping you would welcome me inside

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