Owning a Home

owning a home

the apple tree out front
bends like a question mark
its apples falling below, periods and commas that feed the ants
I grab one up high, gray-speckled on green
a huge egg that fills my hand, crisp and sweet

.
a stand of blackberry bramble that draws the curiosity with its fat, generous, elongated , full fruit

but threatens the resolve with its sharp thorns on every side

sweet and bulbous, cutting skin and tearing flesh

one upon one they heap in the stainless steel bowl

borrowing space until eaten

.

the trees around this place
tall, silent, waiting
watching to see if I, too, will grow patient and enduring
I cut their lowest limbs carefully
respecting their dignity, covering their wounds
I want them to be proud
I want to live as long as they
my bark wrinkling deep, furrowed in age
and the strength of God in my loins

.
toiling in the garden
bending low to pull weeds
close enough to the Earth to smell her scents
the brown, earthy musk
the sticky juice that leaks from the crushed stems of purple stems
the oily mint that hovers about the raised bed
the ruddy blush of budding corn

.
a stray cat the harbors kittens between the woodpile and the barn
a vagabond, a survivor, a wounded spirit
she returns to her litter
after eating from the plastic blue bowl we stole from the kitchen
her month-old children lie together quietly while she is gone
a home is a place to put our children's beds
our cooking pots
our books
our garden tools
a place to let our dreams run free
tumbled out and unpacked
like our children, they will fall short of our expectation
they will scramble out of our control
they will become something other than ourselves
and they will bring us back to breaking
these things we have unleashed
then we will love them
with the same love
with new love
with love that finds its home in spaces between exile and want

.