Sunday, April 27, 2008 11:03:45PM
in the center of our house
and all that we have made here:
this furniture, these curtains, the perfect rugs we have fastened to the floor. brave paint in every room, exalted patchwork. perilous computer wires slinking like ivy. dreadfully confused thermostat. trenches in the tender yellow floor (we will grate it to the soil). a two ton tv like a legendary gargoyle (it will never be moved). peeking white chips in the walls we have blundered. captive rugged yard, a battlefield for sparse crabgrass and sand. the light through seeping curtains against everything.
against everything.
(we were writing poetry.)
in the center of our house
i am cradling the birth of this life, our labor, i am cradling the beginning. and i am turning it in my hands and i am harvesting time.
i love you and i have always loved you. and this is a sure thing and a gamble.
i don’t know anything about what will come of this juncture, our apogee, but we have made something important of our past. we have created and we have struggled, marking our lifetimes with the unimagined experience of each other, a principal narrative, a renaissance. we can never neglect this.
in the center of our house
i am on my knees inside of one solitary instant, a summary of my life. these walls contain the pulsing grain of space that we have crafted out of hope.
we have been so fortunate and we are so fragile.
.
