Lot Next Door

It seems a fitting moment to share a poem I wrote just after we had moved into this house, and the lot sat empty for the season.  A moment from April 2011 brought to light in the current September 2012....

Lot Next Door

I.

Like an ancient archeology site,

rubble litters the plot

telling of former family

home foundations.

Dandelion, plantain, clover, and henbit,

pioneer plants,

now hold the future

of this forgotten plot.

An old tall tree with a dead limb stands on the edge

and neighbors the house next door

barely standing

with sticks and boards.

And it waits,

watching to see what will happen next.

II.

Tossed seeds in hopes of lupines, asters and poppies

become breakfast for hungry Starling.

And we wait

and we watch

and we listen to the land and its endless stories that

seem to rush by as if eroding in heavy rains.

It wants children to play on it.

Pups to roll on it.

Flowers to grow from it

and a community to kiss it.

Now, the fence doubled over

is a cut-spot for teenage feet

haphazardly traversing the treacherous path. 

And I dream of an opening in the fence.

And I dream of a house in the tree.

And I dream of beds

and flowers

and fruit

and children

being tucked into Mother Earth’s arms.

And I look at the lot

and watch.

And I walk on the lot

and wait.

And I consider what it’ll take

to uncover its nature,

its history

and bring forth its future.

And I wait.