She stands on a wooden box
peering through openings
between boarded up windows
Her hands cup the sides of her eyes
the better to see

She wants this house
perched high on Miller Hill
that looks down on the bay
and the narrow stretch of town.
And it is possible
Not an unreasonable hope.
For years the family has lived
in the small room behind their shop,
or camped out, often sleeping in their truck
Now her sister has offered to help buy a house.

In a few months
she will be giving birth
to a fourth child
the timing is right.

Give it to her!
Get it
Make it happen!
I want to scream into the past.

But it doesn’t happen
She does not get the house on the hill
with space all around it
room to breathe and spread her arms.

Instead they buy the Red Covered Cottage
with its low ceilings, and gingerbread trim
featured on a touristy post card

Cute is not her style
She rips off wallpaper
Strips paint from pine wainscoting
But it is not enough.

She can’t see the bay 
Neighbors are too close
She begins to suffocate
Sees no way out.
The house on the hill
holds her lost dreams
of how her life could have been different.

She decides it’s flight or death
This time she won’t make the wrong choice
She packs nothing and never looks back.

               *

Fifty years have passed
The Rose Covered Cottage
remains in the family
Long gone are the roses
The house on Miller Hill
bought and sold many times
now crowded by condominiums.

She has made her home on a hill
in a different coastal town, much like the Cape
The place has high ceilings
From every window she sees the ocean
watches ships come into port
terns resting on a dock

But in her sleep
when the clamor of day can’t drown her thoughts
she thinks of the house on the hill
She remembers what was
and what wasn’t.