By Thomas Page

In the eight houses I have lived in we have always lived with Mrs. Pearce.
Now, Mrs. Pearce doesn’t say much but she always sits behind us at Thanksgiving
Or listen to us as we opened gifts on Christmas.
No one asked where Mrs. Pearce came from
Or whether she would be going anytime soon
But we knew that she would always be in the house.

Mrs. Pearce came before the others
Such as the Five Saints that sit by the front door
Or Michael over the fireplace
Or possibly Santos beneath him.
She came before the Owls moved in front of the door
Or the Chickens sitting by the kitchen sink.
I’m even told that Mrs. Pearce came before my father and my mother knew the other and even themselves.

I asked them one time how long has Mrs. Pearce been there
Sitting on the wall with the black frame next to her name
And her eyes always looking at the blue curtains.
“Well, she has always been there”
Then I asked if we knew who Mrs. Pearce was;
If she was someone that I should know
“Well, she has always been Mrs. Pearce.”
And that was that.

I don’t where Mrs. Pearce will live next
When we’re all on the next move
Another chapter of pages looking through those blue curtains
Wondering how the yard looked when the tree was a sapling
And when the highway didn’t have an overpass by the liquor store
When those beginning pages walked into the house
It’s grass as new as the dawn
And placed Mrs. Pearce on the wall
Before we put up the blue curtains.

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