Henri Le Sidaner
*Houses by the River*, 1902

How often, through the years,
I dreamed of standing once again
beside these doors,
as I used to.

Of studying these walls,
this withered poplar,
of finding my childhood
beneath the roof of the attic.

But here I stand, unable to believe
the dream I carried for so long:
just ordinary doors.
Could these really be the ones?

Just someone’s home,
an old pink house.
What I remember of it
is grander, brighter, cleaner.

And so it turns out:
back in my native place,
nothing remains—
it’s all with me, within me.

There’s no point standing by the windows
on that quiet little street:
the house is an abandoned cocoon,
forever empty.

Veronika Tushnova

Bright Bits