In That House Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

Can your memory carry you to that spell
I was five and you were four, when outdoor
frolicking was first on our aspiration list?
Can your memory reconstruct our umbrage
at being grounded inside that big house?
Our favorite spot was that window which gave
us an ample view of the children not like us
We laughed at how they made pots and pans
from the soil that mingled with their pee, and
hankered to share in their brimming delight
The big house was our cage; we were birds
desperate for liberty, and our throats parched
in envy of neighbors playing hide-and-seek
Their resonating laughter only accentuated our
question: why were we different, not the same?

Why could they gambol and we only watch?
Neither our clean shirts, sweet fragrance
and unblemished skin would propitiate us
They had freedom, and the infinite blue sky:
How were we to understand we had our
maladies that immured us within the walls?
In that house, we crafted our own playground
constructed from make-believe and pretense:
Swiftly, we were in the open concourse with
many friends and all gaiety wanting indoors
We even wrote and danced to our own songs
My brother found a friend in me and his sister,
in him: a friendship that spilled out of the house
We left that house: who knows if we will return?
I left that house; I took nothing, but when I think
of all the love inside, I know I carted everything