Sitting on my bench I see the back of the house. I like the back more than the front. The front is what those living there imagine all seeing. The front is formal and neat. The toys are put up in the front yard and no one would think to leave out the garden hose there. All window curtains and shades are directed to the eye of the invited guest and uninvited sales representative. Only those intimate with the people are allowed through the side or the back.
The back of the house has the laundry line and there hang the red shirt and pants and underwear. There hang the bedspread that is fraying around the edges and only used for picnics and that one time we spent a Sunday afternoon in the shade of a maple tree on the berm of the lake, talking and dozing and making love.
The back of the house shows me the reality of the people living there. I enjoy sitting at the back and recalling all memory revealed there.
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