The Maker The Charles Causley Literary Blog
The House with the Once Blue Door by Ella Haines
Here she stands again
A note of happiness in her stomach
She’s been here many times before
Every day the door opens up and she rushes inside
She doesn’t take it in, she’s too young to take it in
But it is her home
The house with the blue door.
The sea scape flows gently
Her bucket and spade pick up the white and grey rocks that have been scattered around
She’s been here many times before
Most days she sees the beauty of it as she passes by
But she doesn’t take it in, she’s too young to take it in
But it is where she lives
The coast by the house with the blue door.
Cars race down the road
Wind whipping her rosy cheeks
She’s been here many times before
Most days she sees the hubbub of it as she passes by
But she doesn’t take it in, she’s too young to take it in
But it is where she lives
The road by the house with the blue door.
Suddenly the years have passed and she’s in one of those cars she used to see
The loud stereo blasts Taylor Swift
She’s been here many times before
But now she’s a tourist in the hubbub of the road where she used to live
She doesn’t completely remember the scenery
But it was her home
The road by the house with the blue door.
She breathes in the sea’s salty air, she used to walk by the pier most days
She’s been here many times before
The gulls swoop and take more than their fair share of chips
She doesn’t completely remember the beach
But it was her home
The coast by the house with the blue door.
Here she stands once again, a note of sadness in her stomach
She’s been here many times before but it used to be hers
The door doesn’t open like it used to, it bars the way
She doesn’t completely remember it
She knows it was her home, and somehow more than her home
The house with the now white door.