Tuesday, August 29, 2017

House (Poem)


I leave behind all
I know, fifteen years
at their end:

a house that was
never a nest
to be emptied,

three levels
of old wood
floors to clean,

a room stilled
for want of
the dog in my bed,

stairs not he
and not I
need to climb.

The plants wither,
ask to be watered;
the surfaces, dusted.

Through renovation
and effort came
expectation; we added

the close watching
for visible signs
of careful constructions.

We were awful
at trying rebuilders'
new jargon.

Home is not a definition
for house.

House can't convey
more than the space

we sometimes occupied.
Space reminds me

how we started out
so full of desire,
now manage nothing


I loved you — once. Forgive
me. Forgive you. Thank you.

© 2017 Maureen E. Doallas

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