S T A G E S - - - a l l n e w . a l l n o w .

they will cry

Its silent now.
More beautiful perhaps, but silent.
Dead ? No – not yet.
It takes a lot to kill something like that.
Its just tired. Drained. Emptied out.
The squabbling children that filled the fivefootways with games have grown up – moved on, become different people.
The babies that entered our world through these doors have screamed their way into other rooms, other houses.
The busy adults that worked here making, selling, wrapping, cooking, dyeing – they go on, doing their business, but in newer, cleaner, colder fluorescent-lit places.
The families – gone.
The businesses – gone.
But the houses remain.
And as long as the houses remain, they will come back.
Busy about their lives, they will suddenly remember these houses –
A smile will break across their tired faces – a smile that was wider here, freer here;
To be followed by a tear
A tear that flowed freer here, but never hurt as much then as it will now –
Because now that tear feels emptier, aches more;
There is more to cry about
There is so much left behind
And they will put down what it is they are doing, and stand still, and stare -
Seeing again, as close as a touch, the peeling walls and uneven stairs.
And they will cry -
Cry for what they moved away from
And what they moved away into
And they will cry hardest when they realize
That the houses remain
But they can never move back.

Jonathan Lim
October 1999

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