Across the Street
Mary Winters
Limestone townhouse on muffled
cul-de-sac near United Nations:
neighbors in plainer flat call it
“The Little House”; heard the
tale of owners standing tall in
1950’s -- wouldn’t sell out to
bigness. Neighbor saw a Renoir
trundled in -- but owners
rarely home to look: came once
to soothe the block when alarm
malfunction woke us; live-in
housekeeper shoos the dust, comes
out to stare at fire engines.
Suppertime magic, winter evening:
“Oh, look, the lights are on --
someone’s home in the Little House”;
imagining the pomp.
