Fait Accompli

A gnawing desire to pass the baton
with dignity and grace consumed her. For she was

born

to please. A generational yearning
vehemently coursed through her veins
as it did many sandstones ago through her maker
who too had become a reluctant pallbearer

in service

to the here and now.
Disparaged in the eyes of those who cared not
explore beyond her weathered shell,
of those who refused

to embrace

her spirit. Irrelevant in the minds of those
who had already auctioned off to whim
guarded mementos of tomorrow. And yet forever

REGAL

in the hearts of those brought to their knees
by her profound compassion. Eternally

beloved

within the grateful gaze
of those whose reckless gambles she concealed
from the merciless clocks of their lives, rendered

merciful

but for her restraint and will.
She, their loyal captain entrusted by fate and choice
to pour over events of seasons past

destined

to preside over the fate of secrets:
the ones promised to obsolescence
and others that would greet the light of day.
Fancying herself a card dealer of sorts, she began

to unfurl

countless images of the children who dreamed in her keep,
both the ones regaled with a goodnight kiss
and those who pitifully cried themselves to sleep.
Images of restraint and blitz, families missed and illicit

bliss

a relic concerto agonizing
over the unknown. Tick-tock.
Worthy of an anthology, her innermost memories find themselves
perched upon the edge of nihility, for she refused to

surrender

her most guarded secrets
to the gravitational pull of curiosity and time.
An undercurrent of melancholy washed over her
as she confronted her

fait accompli

with the spirit of a grand warrior.
And as her forlorn weathered walls crumbled, so too
did the tales adorning the soul of that majestic home
amid cobblestone paths and weeping lavender blooms.

Photo by Alina
Sintra, Portugal in 2015
pennedbyalina ©2021


Did you notice the poem within the poem? (Desktop only.)

I revel in beauty: a kind heart, a garden rose, a soulful home. The passage of time held within the walls we cherish is the elixir of a life well-lived. This is why historic homes steal my heart. Thankfully they also tug at the heart of my husband so we can be stolen together. I hope to live out my days in ours and that when we pass the baton, we will have peppered its walls with as much joie de vivre as it deserves, for a home is but a character in the movie of our lives, one that mirrors the personalities of the very people it embraces. Below are a couple of articles featuring two of our old nests.

Santa Barbara Magazine
Peachy the Magazine
Catherine Austin Designs