My childhood home
had a “lounge room”,
a room in the centre of the house
almost never used, but with the best furniture,
rarely sat upon, the piano,
not played, fallen silent,
since my grandfather died,
too young, too young,
and the record player.
It was, in theory, the place
where important visitors could
be taken. But most of our
visitors were unimportant, friends,
who were happy sitting in the kitchen.
The Minister of our church
might have qualified in importance,
I suppose,
but he rarely if ever came.
So it was a quiet room,
a dark room with no window,
a neat room with no mess,
no detritus of living.
It was in the very centre
of the house, surrounded
by rooms full of activity and noise –
kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, laundry,
television room, dining room.
Every house needs a quiet, still, centre,
a place for reflection.
So does every human being.
nomdeplume 