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I was very attached to my old house, it was a victorian house in St. Paul built in 1910. It was like living in a mansion. It was so ornate and beautiful and I had so many memories there from playing hide and seek in the creepy basement to laying in the sun on the grand staircase. A part of me was left there when we moved away. The day we moved, my brothers and I carved our names in this secret door under the bay window, it was the only thing we left behind physically.
In Sherlock (the tv show), Sherlock uses a “mind palace” to hold everything in his mind, and to navigate through his thoughts he wanders through the palace. It’s a memory technique. I started doing this with my old house, and each room/area symbolizes a part of me.

Mind Palace

Screen_shot_2016-05-21_at_1.42.14_pmby Sierra Ross21 May 2016

2016

I close my eyes

I open them on an old street
The oak trees bending over the road
I turn my gaze to the house
Before me
And I look into it’s tired eyes
It's crooked shingles
Its columns bowed
There lies my heart.

I approach the house.

I trip on the uneven sidewalk
The weeds creeping up from the
Cracks and seams
That lead to the rotting porch
Whose paint was peeling and floorboards aging
And the house seems
Old and tired.
There lies my insecurities.

I grasp the handle.

Cold and brassy
Tarnished and rusty
And give a gentle push
The heavy wooden door creaks
And as I step into the palace
I breathe in the musty
Smell of dust and age
There lies my imperfections.

I step on the floor.

Every squeaky floorboard with its own voice
Moaning and groaning
Every surface dusty
So much so
That as I run my finger down the chiseled trim
It leaves behind a clean path
of polished wood
And dust of past lives on my hand.
There lies my memories.

I touch the furniture.

The arms of the couch made of
Carved wood
smooth to the touch
The cushions firm yet plush
That release a plume of dust into the air
When touched
The fireplace made of emerald green tiles
Cracked and dull
There lies my knowledge.

I climb up the stairs.

The sunbeams warming me
I glare
At the worn red carpet
Which is cascading down the center
Leaving the sides wooden and bare
I continue on, letting the
Grooved rail guide me there
There lies my determination.

I follow the light.

Up to the warped glass
Glowing, gleaming
Colorful and brilliant, resembling a painting.
Guiding the light of dawn from floor to ceiling
Every slow-moving particle of dust in the air
Catching the light and forming golden rays seeming
To fan out beyond the stairs
There lies my hopes and dreams.

I cross the hall.

I open the curtains
And sit at the base
Of the bay window
Overlooking my childhood
My favorite place.

Then I remember.

I open the seat
To reveal a hidden space
Where we carved our names.
All three, very faint.
I run my finger over the lines
Splintered.
Imperfect.
Illegible.

But beautiful.

And I unravel.
I cry.
It’s not just a house
Its is a palace.
It is mine.
Where my memories lie.
Where my heart lies.
Where I lie.

And I open my eyes.