My home, my quiet refuge, kept in perpetual watch
On the outside pristine walls
Immaculate surface reflecting sky’s light
Misery coloured by blue and white
A little porch with a bench feels almost amicable
Please have a seat, but don’t make yourself too comfortable
Quiet as it kept, in my own lone familiar way I’m hiding what’s vulnerable. What if they see…?
Plants that shrivelled and died, under-watered or perchance overwatered, flooded with choices
Stairs that requite every misstep with a chorus of plaintive voices
A gash on the ceiling, arousing tension between two puzzles, both equally appealing
To fill the vacant spaces or keep them sealed
That one room where everything meets and at times, startlingly enough, disappear without a trace
Unspoken fears that pressed against the walls left peeled paint in its place
And askew bedside lamp, a night time witness to my despair
I could have possibly taken joy in owning it. That seems about right. But instead, I’ll just give them blue and white
The Good was Taken out of the Summer
The good was taken out of the summer,
With her garden patch left abandoned,
Lettuce heads and scallions gone wild,
Her sweet summer plans all spoiled.
The good was taken out of the summer,
With green fly festering her roses,
Overwatered orchids on the sill
As her plastic bread bowl lay still.
The good was taken out of the summer,
With Hunter, her dog left in waiting
For her voice, her footsteps, her care
And the fridge in the kitchen left bare.
The good was taken out of the summer,
Put on pause til her homecoming came,
While in convalescence she lay
In a nursing home, day after day.
The good was put back into summer,
When she returned to where she belonged,
To her garden patch, Hunter and flowers,
To sit,
To be still,
To be ours.
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