"IT’S ONLY A VACANT LOT"

the lawyer phoned this morning 
to start legal proceedings, 
to transfer the title of deed

to him it’s only a vacant lot
in a small prairie town
he sees only the weeds and the trees

he cannot share my vision
of the white frame house
with red geraniums in the windowboxes

the Christmas tree swing
where my legs pumped
as I tried to reach the sky

the stone set in mid-lawn
home plate for baseball games
where I hit my first home run

the white canvas sailboats
set atop a pole
circling in summer breezes

he cannot hear the ghosts 
of childish laughter of two sisters
playing with their teddy bears

the strumming of the banjo
a father playing “Polly Wolly Doodle”
while he babysits

he cannot see the hazel-eyed mother
sitting on her garden bench
while her gnarled hands stroke the cat

what would he think of the yellow
teddy guardian who watches over the desk
of this lady who owns the vacant lot