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Heir
The house of my life
Is cracked and rotted.
The floors are warped,
And all of my broken windows
Welcome rain.
But from the rubble,
I’ll piece out a coat,
Made from my very best scraps and shards.
Here’s a patch of rug from Tibet
And the cobweb strands of a once regal drape.
Cupped like an egg in a frothy current of days,
You, my bird, my bud, my tuft of fuzz and light,
Inherit this coat of broken things,
Something more meager than a manger,
But sewed from all the love wrung
From a wasted life.
Copyright ©
Daniel DuBois
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