Tuesday, September 29, 2009

On the Hill

I was looking through some pictures the other day. I’m trying to determine the ones I want to use in my next chapbook. In the process I found some pictures that I have always called On The Hill pictures.

That’s one of them on the right of this entry. They are all taken in Kellen Hollow, and on the only spot with a good background, the hill just above the road, and near the rabbit hutches. The hillside has changed over the years. There was a garden there, an apple tree, and the chicken house stood just out of sight on the right. The building on the left is the garage with Granddad’s workshop.

The house was a brick building originally built for use as a store with living on the second story. It is where I sat on the steps and learned the stories of my family and friends. Where I became a writer and artist.

Whenever the family came for holidays or weekends, and if somebody had a camera, a picture was taken on the hill, more times than not.

The people in this picture are my Father and his brothers. I don’t know who that is peeking around the corner. I’ve written poems about all of them. Two of them are gone. I think this picture was taken just before I was born. If I could, I’d love to step into this picture and tell them all just how much they have meant to me over the years, and hold them in my arms one more time. Each one taught me something that made me who I am.

I’m sharing this prose poem with you today about what I imagine happened with my Uncle Ray (second from the right) when he saw my Aunt again after many years. She was special, and so was he. I miss them very much. As time goes on I’ll share more about these brothers with you.

Whispers To Marge
When tomorrow never comes, I think I will know you when we meet again. I’ll walk up to you on some crowded street, maybe an outside market that we were so fond of visiting. We’ll not speak for a few moments. I’ll tip my hat because men will once again wear fedoras, and you’ll see me as a younger man, dressed in a white suit like in a Humphrey Bogart movie. You’ll still be as beautiful as you were when I saw you that last time in the hospital. For a moment you’ll not recognize me, because I’ll be dressed unlike I was in that other place, but finally you’ll smile, reach for my hand, and we’ll walk around the corner, to the house we always dreamed would be ours.


  1. Thank you, Robert, for bringing up those memories. I can just close my eyes and remember those times when we would be down there & the taking of the pictures "on the hill." I will be sharing this with my children & grandchildren. Love, Debbie

  2. A beautiful poem, Robert. Brings tears to my eyes.