Homemaking
Say you wanted to put it back
together, the house and the home
and the life now called Before -
You wouldn’t need much, just
the cherry tree, its blossom and rot,
a handful of silt dug deep
from the creek bed, the smell of wet dog,
the cat you abandoned and
the front door you kept, unhinged
for the value of its patterned glass.
Of course, these things won’t be easy
to come by: I don’t know how,
in another time and place, you could capture
summer’s green creep of vines over
your grandmother’s rosebush,
the rough catch of shingles,
still sun-warm, where we sat on the roof
and passed the early hours, or
the embers, stoked from burn season’s
backyard smolders, that pricked the night
like so many dying stars.
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