—Photo by David Iribarne, Sacramento, CA
BURROW
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA
to move or not to move...
look around at one main room
pocket kitchen, bath, closet aside
I’ve been ten years here, alone
it should be next to nothing
to go through it all
winnow what to keep
shred, recycle, donate the rest
should take a few months till lease’s end
do a little each day
Be strong!
this rent is too high
there is only one window
carpet was old when I moved here
leaf blowers outside drive me nuts every Thursday
Yet, life has been sweet here
one-room studio like an animal’s winter burrow
dark, warm cave when window blinds closed
sheltered me through mid-life college
finally, teaching work
holding, sustaining, overwhelming me
worked in solitude
late into nights here
year after year
walls with their spider webs
I admit to ignoring
have nurtured hundreds of poems
walls and several rounds
of short-term, gracious neighbors
put up with my playing flute
music both solace and challenge
new shining silver intermediate flute
proudly bought with teaching pay
walls have listened to her sing
pool held me
floating, cooling in raging summer heat
water strewn with rosy petals as summer waned
until management
ripped out the crape myrtle trees
I’ve cooked delicious meals here
then absently spooned them in
perched on that annoying barstool
no room for a kitchen table
eating while pouring through books
ignoring the hole in my heart
lacking loving discourse, shared meals—
of course, living alone
has meant no fights during dinner, too
in the corner, day bed / night bed has not judged
as I struggled and tossed, cried
napped too often
slept exhausted in warm blankets
some of them friends’ loving gifts
now moving toward threadbare—
another sign that it’s time
or I could buy new blankets
winds bring the call to move
create a new, happier home
rub my eyes, squint to see the way
still unsure of where to place my feet
when the time comes
they will fly down that road
but at this year’s end
I wrap my small, single home
around me, search my heart, wait for the moment
ready myself for inevitable change
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Wehrman for her fine, Starting Fresh poem, and to David Iribarne for his lovely butterfly!
to move or not to move...
look around at one main room
pocket kitchen, bath, closet aside
I’ve been ten years here, alone
it should be next to nothing
to go through it all
winnow what to keep
shred, recycle, donate the rest
should take a few months till lease’s end
do a little each day
Be strong!
this rent is too high
there is only one window
carpet was old when I moved here
leaf blowers outside drive me nuts every Thursday
Yet, life has been sweet here
one-room studio like an animal’s winter burrow
dark, warm cave when window blinds closed
sheltered me through mid-life college
finally, teaching work
holding, sustaining, overwhelming me
worked in solitude
late into nights here
year after year
walls with their spider webs
I admit to ignoring
have nurtured hundreds of poems
walls and several rounds
of short-term, gracious neighbors
put up with my playing flute
music both solace and challenge
new shining silver intermediate flute
proudly bought with teaching pay
walls have listened to her sing
pool held me
floating, cooling in raging summer heat
water strewn with rosy petals as summer waned
until management
ripped out the crape myrtle trees
I’ve cooked delicious meals here
then absently spooned them in
perched on that annoying barstool
no room for a kitchen table
eating while pouring through books
ignoring the hole in my heart
lacking loving discourse, shared meals—
of course, living alone
has meant no fights during dinner, too
in the corner, day bed / night bed has not judged
as I struggled and tossed, cried
napped too often
slept exhausted in warm blankets
some of them friends’ loving gifts
now moving toward threadbare—
another sign that it’s time
or I could buy new blankets
winds bring the call to move
create a new, happier home
rub my eyes, squint to see the way
still unsure of where to place my feet
when the time comes
they will fly down that road
but at this year’s end
I wrap my small, single home
around me, search my heart, wait for the moment
ready myself for inevitable change
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Wehrman for her fine, Starting Fresh poem, and to David Iribarne for his lovely butterfly!
