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Unfinished Business

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Below is the poem entitled Unfinished Business which was written by poet Alfreda Williamson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Unfinished Business

UNFINISHED BUSINESS
©Alfreda Williamson
July 2, 2004




Outside town boundaries,
bustling, noisy din,
Deeply in the serenity of peace, calm,
the country County,
Around a curve, sharp, blind.

There it leaped out at me.
Suddenly, unexpectedly
Catching me off guard,
Not foresightedly, not scary
Just by way of wonderment
. . . why this unfinished business?
The house without its finishings.

. . .  It rose up in the trees,
reaching the tops, for two stories,
Sweat/precision/deliberation imputed,
Reaching towards the sun.

Or was it toward a full autumn moon,
Or could it be the direction,
from the ancient star compass.
Harnessing a cloud drifting by, for clearing?

It stood among the ivory,
Entangled, entwined but
Not overgrown, not overtaken.

The roof covered in tin,
The setting for magnificent, earthly,
	heavenly sounding of
drenching,/torrential/steady
rain drops.


The windowed eyes of this
Unfinished  dwelling,
Finished, painted, shadowed, framed
. . . in pink.
Its back bone wood no longer
yellow /white/beige with youth.
The grey/brown color of rotting age and elements;
. . . time, neglect, exposure
. . . nature scraping and shearing away,
year after year,
after month, after day,
after time.

The frame finished, nearly so,
Peaking spaces left, or now,
There, some frame filling
Having been ripped/rotted
Away for outsiders to look in.

This business unfinished,
And not overtaken,
In the gulf of time.

Nature working reclamation,
Of the space, crawling,
Groundward, upward,
Yet unfinished in recapturing.

This unfinished house, standing
Alone in the word,
Sharing a space with no one
In its place.
The windowed souls,
	. . . looking, peeking at
	passersby,
	driving,
	cycling,
	running pass,
	in a flurry.

This unfinished business,
Begs questioned consideration,
Sufficient structural invitation
	? who went there
	? what past passed
	? why this unfinished business
	? when
Where . . . 
	am I begged to inquire,
	invited to draw close?

But I can’t get there.
Though attention drawn,
And pondering invoked.

I can’t finish it,
This business.

By Alfreda Williamson
© July 2, 2004



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