Sunday, February 22, 2009

Mortgage

The faint hope of building a life
together gives the toil of each day
false significance, this world
of exertion, and struggle, and tedium
the weariness and blinding pain
we call work

This nonsensical garden
yields only stones, its earth
parched and devoid of nutrients
the apple tree
limbs bare, pale fruit pecked hastily
by starlings, licked by wasps
before any hope of harvest

Such a weaving of the words, or dreams
it would take to solidify the walls
of a simple dwelling by lake or river
or sea, end of the journey
inhabited warmly, fire
in the hearth
this nebulous creation, home

Rachel Westfall
February 22, 2009

9 comments:

LORENZO said...

Amen to the term "nebulous". So often we work so hard for more and would be better off with less and more time to be free & happy. "This nonsensical garden yields only stones.." is the best part for me!

Lisa said...

wow.
true.

Kyddryn said...

It's where the heart is, truly, home. I've had many places I called "home", call home still, and could easily go and live in any of them again because part of me dwells there still.

There's a starkness to this one, something that gives it sepia tones in my mind. How we spin our wheels...

Shade and Sweetwater,
K

George said...

We lost everything twenty years ago, put what we could in storage, then someone stole the rest.

We are just getting back on our feet with the hard work. But the simple pleasures seem to had meant more to us during our time of survival.

I have to go now and put another log on the fire.

It was nice visiting, I'll stop by again...

confused said...

These words ring of truth

Ravy said...

Perfect!

I was taken to a space, a dark and wet and rocky place when I read this, oddly. Very good indeed. Love Ravynwolfe

colleen said...

While everyone was away at work, we were robbed ... Our gardens overgrew ... our children were sent off to school ... we watched it all on the nightly news ... OR something like that from a poem I wrote many years ago. At it's worst it feels like a form of paid slavery. At it's best (when you love your job) it feels like play.

Tired of work said...

A death sentence for a home. Hear that? Kill youself for your home (a place were you should be happy, healthy and content).

Work to live
Don't live to work (unless you love it :))

...better get some sleep, cause I gotta work tomorrow ;( sniff.

Poetikat said...

You do sometimes wake up and think, "What's it all for?" When did owning a home become best thing? - after the Depression, I think.

Kat