The whole place we built by hand
not just paper and paint.
We hung rafters from the sky
a chimney and bright metal roof
which sang in every rain.
We walked blank land and invented
life anew in the Blue Ridge
as if anyone ever starts again.
Years later a blind date remarked
“You’ve spent your life on houses.”
True. Like a nest-obsessed bird, I’ve
painted my way from town to town
designing space for friends and music,
tables to sit at and chairs to read in.
I envisioned a family unlike
my scattered patchwork
which rarely gathers where I live.
All that time and work
for a life dreamed of
a love desired – perhaps that’s
why birds have not just nests
but wings.
NESTS
Comments
4 responses to “NESTS”
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I love that poem. A home is so important.
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Oh Cindy, this is so beautiful and so you. Each of your homes was unique. I remember so many of them if not were or when. As for family gathering… we are lucky if we all get together at Christmas or a momentous occasion. Perhaps Dean’s 80th next March. But we both are blessed. Love you
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Thank you, Pat. I know about family gatherings. I just always dreamed…
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Thank you, Suze. I agree.
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