Tuesday, June 24, 2014

A Broken Home


A broken home
Is not broken, necessarily,
But a series of halves.
Not abandoned
Or functional,
But equalizing.
Unrepaired, yet repairable-
Or sometimes, just
Unorganized.

Our house is large
And lonely.

The garden is wide
And thorned.

The pool is deep
And empty.
Dirty.
And the filter is missing pieces.

The room is mine
Yet claustrophobic with
The stuff of
Others.
(My stuff is in the dining room.)

Tiny bruises pepper
The underbellies
Of active dogs
Plagued by fleas.

The fridge is
Bursting with
Leftovers.

The suite is rented,
But the floor is torn up.

The electricity running,
And the water run out.

The 18-year-old boy,
The hairy child,
Asleep under the living room fan:
He escapes.

Phone hooked up
But dead.
AC On
But warm.
Dishwasher hangs open,
unemptied.
Toy boxes emptied
But strewn.
Clothes laundered,
But piled.

All things waiting
To be put.

I sit outside the gloomy
Archaic monster
And consider how
All fixer-uppers are really the failures
Of passing others.
And how this one
Bitterly grips my
Childhood.

And in the front yard,
My car sits 
Without a water pump,
A radiator, hoses, or the thermostat.

I do not have
The fourteen hundred
To fix it.

And I learn
There is not always the time,
The money, the patience,
The love, the desire,
The hope
To fix it. 

3 comments:

  1. It's such a simple poem capturing the essence of your feelings and is so delicate....

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  2. I like that you used the word delicate. I think the poem stretches on a little long but I think the feeling at the end could be a delicate/tender sadness or disappointment. At least that's what I felt writing it :)

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  3. I love your poem it's inspiring and I wanna help u build that home into an Empire

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