Two prim and proper homes
one tired and hollowing trunk
the stage is set, I fear,
for resounding loud ka-thunk.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.
Category Archives: Home
Connections: June 11.17
At the corner of Useless and Broken
near the Unresolved/Hopeful junction
a city of storage arises
awaiting its Extreme Unction.
Fragments and miscellany
tethering us to — what? —
the past? a loss? a wish?
a monument to glut?
Irony in cubes:
crowded emptiness
in corrugated sepulchre
I own my need for less.
Connections: June 9.17
As you know, dear reader, I am trying to ready my house for selling.
I’ve been packing, hauling, sweating, heaving, sorting, tossing,
stressed, sleepless, harried and hassled,
weary, bruised, and cross.
It’s been a long dark tunnel with a tiny light at the end.
My son called. Also a gardener.
They have so many plants left over from the plant sale —
he’s planted all he can —
would I take some?
If you are a gardener, you heard my gasp.
Wasted plants? All those cramped roots longing to stretch?
Gardeners are irrational
so I said sure.
I have so much to do and am so close to being ready to list
but I said sure.
And we had some perfect June days.
I sank my knuckles into the dirt
brushed up against the tomato leaves as much as possible
cooed over the poor cramped marigolds
fussed over the red onions
introduced the new jalapeno to old-timer daylily
pictured the banana peppers next the cherry tomatoes come August
basked in the brief respite from the world’s chaos
and my own
and now have the prettiest little kitchen garden you ever saw.
Planted
— go figure —
for someone else.
Connections: June 7.17
Behold his handiwork
dastard chipmunk ruins;
the blasted things are cute
only in cartooins.
Connections: May 21.17
What’s in a back yard?
A little grass, a little sun
a little bit of garden
a little bit of fun
a haven for the rabbits
where dandelions bloom
the fresh-aired open-concept
original family room
where games and make-believe
work and play combine
but victim of aesthetics:
I miss the old clothesline.
Connections: May 17.17
If you are a gardener you know
that leaving it is heart’s harrow
so I think you will pardon
my meager pot garden
as my way to soften the blow.
Connections: May 9.17
My grandma had a tiny house
if you take a yardstick measure
but it was huge in other ways:
curiosity and treasure.
The coolest stuff was hid away
but I knew where to find it
and she would let me hold it
and tell the tale behind it.
Now I’m packing up my house
which means, I’m sure you know,
packing up my family
striving to let go.
Memories sneak in everywhere
in closet and in drawer
one thing leads to another
as I’m sorting on the floor.
You will understand, I’m sure,
I hyperventilate
when I note the Christmas card box:
45 for $1.98!
And thus do different eras
re-tell themselves to me
as I wrap the family flotsam
as if crown jewelry.
