Student Publishing Program ::

Benjamin Chomitz

My Old House

I remember my old house.
It was big, but then again,
We were small.

I remember,
The old skeleton of the house,
Carrying the roof on its shoulders,
Would complain to the windowpanes about the rain.

I remember,
There was a big crack in the front door.
When the winter knocked,
We would run into the kitchen,
Under the sink where the warmth was.

I remember,
That the floor whispered to us about the night,
And that the walls talked to each other about the weather.
Rindge Ave. yelled in the morning to the sun
Who, like us, didn’t want to wake up.
And the banjo in the dining room would sing to my father as he poured coffee.

[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2012 EDITION]