little remains
of my grandfather's house:
raw rafters, warped planks with hints
my uncle invested in paint
the windows all gone, time
and twisters took them, and much
of the roof--what is left of that sags,
a silent submission to gravity
a woodstove survives, cold
to the touch, with no memory
of the fire it once birthed, the precious
prairie timber which fed it
now it knows only mourning
doves' song; winged squatters
unperturbed by my presence, as if
they know I lay no claim to now
the old boards have stories
I will never hear: the birth of babes,
reading the Word by kerosene lamps,
the last breaths of men
the songbirds may know,
but they woo the living in flight--a
future of nesting and fertile eggs; they
owe no belated dirge to long lost kin
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:53 AM UTC
little remains
of my grandfather's house:
raw rafters, warped planks with hints
my uncle invested in paint
the windows all gone, time
and twisters took them, and much
of the roof--what is left of that sags,
a silent submission to gravity
a woodstove survives, cold
to the touch, with no memory
of the fire it once birthed, the precious
prairie timber which fed it
now it knows only mourning
doves' song; winged squatters
unperturbed by my presence, as if
they know I lay no claim to now
the old boards have stories
I will never hear: the birth of babes,
reading the Word by kerosene lamps,
the last breaths of men
the songbirds may know,
but they woo the living in flight--a
future of nesting and fertile eggs; they
owe no belated dirge to long lost kin
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