Gardener at Heart - Book Two

Requiem For A Mobile Home


How hollow

Inside me

Is the hole

This house once filled,

A home-shaped place

At the hub of the world.


No—don’t explain—

Don’t try to tell

What particular logic

The landlord mouths,

What cold-eyed god

He invokes.


No—don’t ask me

To wish him ill;

That’s one load

I don’t have to box up

And cart away.


No—I won’t stay

To see this soft space

Under the archway

Where we so often stood together,

This well-known pattern

Of moving shade

Where we so often sat together,

Destroyed by someone

Hard with lawfulness,

Armed with dollar signs.


May this junky little house,

This shabby little porch,

Glow with the memory

Of how very much we loved it

Even while it is being torn down.


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