Someday we will get up from this mess
of stirred blankets and soiled laundry
living on piles of boxes and untouched documents
old unworn garments hanging on the curtain rod

The stench of manure and the old man’s unkept
bags carried over last night’s binge and false beliefs
with evidence of old computer notes
to pretend he’s making money
will someday be a memory

Baking tools and sundresses
will finally make it on today’s to do lists
black circles will not be hidden because
we were not made to be pulled apart like dolls

When the time comes
birds and the sound of leaves falling,
the loud bang of the overripe fruit atop
our heads echoing through the roof
like the sound of nature telling us

We are not frail for walking
on steel bridges bare foot
waiting for rain to fall
like dancing

Strongly the grip of the earth
and winds churning about this house
led us to these sights we cannot ignore
to leave this place
to start new maps with bare hands