Photo by gratefulsue
Number on the Telephone Line
Singsongy.
It sounds fine!
Dial: 2-4-8,
1-2-8-9.
That phone number
used to be mine,
When I called home
on the telephone line.
Had my own room,
Sis did, too.
Dad left, Mom stayed,
while we both grew.
Played outside with
the neighborhood crew.
Graduated. Left.
Got married. It’s true.
Mom stayed,
at 2-4-8, 1-2-8-9.
For thirty-seven years—
her “Welcome” sign.
Miss the people,
the place so fine,
and my youth, at
2-4-8, 1-2-8-9.
© 2023 gratefulsue
Yes. If you're wondering, the photo for this poem is indeed my childhood home where I had that sing-songy telephone number, first on a rotary phone, then on a push-button phone! Our family moved into this neighborhood, just a few months before I entered first grade! Our house was the very first house built in a neighborhood with four streets and woods surrounding most of the houses. In elementary and middle school, as new houses went up, my sister and I would meet the new neighbors and see if there were any children our age. There were! I remember playing hide and seek outside with the other kids, often with very wide boundaries of multiple houses or streets. I also climbed trees, crossed ravines, built forts in the woods, and chased lightning bugs at twilight. In middle school and high school, various friends would come over and we would hang out in the finished basement or in my bedroom (second floor window on the right corner).
My mother stayed in that house after her divorce and later remarried a kind widower. Her wonderful new husband sold the home where his children had spent many of their growing up years, which meant my sister and I were able to hang on to and visit our old neighborhood for many more years, through college, getting married, and having children of our own! Sweet memories, though perhaps a bit romanticized.