the house was shared.
a new purchase;
a fresh acquisition that was
the feeling, mutual:
the soul of the home needs work.
and so we strove to lift it,
dusting shelves and moving worn out furniture,
thinking of the roof
threatening to cave above our heads.
my sister, my heart,
we move on to the yard;
an expanse of tallest weeds
and grass grown thick;
thick with neglect.
I pull at a root beneath me;
the soil caves, putrified, and smells
of abscesses and death,
having gone unattended too long.
I and my heart feel sick;
sick with regret.
my sister, she starts, and moves
across the yard,
and helps me see the benefit of our work.©afterthoughtcomposer
|"Many Standing Mysteries" - by Jeannie Lynn Pask|