The yellow house is

the sandbox in the backyard

where kids created a water city

and hid jewelry, hot wheels, and coins,

only to unearth them years later.

It’s the purple door that opened up

to a red kitchen with odd blue cupboards

and a loving family that

only knew how to laugh.

It’s the basement with one room

dedicated to a train set.

 

The yellow house is

the sound of kids

munching on tacos and the slurping of pop.

It’s the Sunday morning breakfasts

where french toast and breakfast pizza

saturated the house with mouthwatering scents.

It’s the Kid Cuisines that tasted like

a meal from a 5 star restaurant.

 

The yellow house is

early mornings of bright eyed kids

watching Power Rangers and Aladin

before school started.

It’s the one block walk to school which morphed into

treasure hunts, safari trips, and deep sea adventures.

It’s the first snowfall of every year

that awoke a tired mother by the

pleading of her persistent kids,

“Mommy do you see it? The snow is sparkly!

We’re going to make snowmen, snow angels, and snow forts!”

 

The yellow house is

the sleepovers on a trampoline

where it was all play and no sleep.

It’s the babysitters

who made unforgettable nights for the kids

while mom and dad went on dates.

It’s the many games of

Hide-and-Go-Seek and the Pillow Game

which left the kids breathless.

 

The yellow house is

a home of 4 kids;

drawn closer together by loving parents.

It’s the fall of the father

which an oblivious daughter witnessed.

It’s the echoing sirens

that led to the inevitable death of the cancerous father.

It’s the living room full of tear stained relatives,

leading to the the fateful words of ‘he’s gone’.

It’s the resonating example

of a strong mother who raised 4 kids by herself,

worked hard to support her family,

and made the best decisions for her family.

It’s the anger from the youngest boy and girl

that showed the toll taken on them from the tragedy.

 

The yellow house is

the decision that changed the whole family;

a decision to let a new family in.

It’s the emptiness of every room

that echoed in the family’s minds

that this wasn’t home anymore.

What they once knew, all would be changed,

all would be started over with their new family.

It’s the house that was left behind,

but the memories that were taken with.

 

The yellow house is

full of laughs that never ended.

It’s the smiles of kids

who knew their mischievous tricks

made their parents laugh.

It’s the cries from kids of

boo-boos, bandaids, and bad names.

It’s the family that lost a member,

but gained an angel.

It’s the family who drew closer

in a time of such tragedy.

It’s my memories.

It’s my childhood.

It’s my yellow house.