A nicely burning home

home2

April Dream

Last night my house was burning.  Could not find

one precious thing to grab and find comfort in.

And when the torrential rain hammered out the

flames, I was angry with its self-righteous

interference.

 

My house is still burning.  And where it is

whole, I have not found all the rooms,

closets and old garbage.

There is no longer

a complacent order.

Havoc has its own

integrity. Charred walls accept young vines

and holes in roof allow the fragrant spring

to freely visit.

 

My house is not my castle.  It is not the

precious final coagulated fulfillment of

ironed-out dreams. It is a plant, a tree

swaying in the evening wind.

Joseph C. Zinker, 2001

from: Sketches: An Anthology of Essays, Art, and Poetry, Gestalt Press

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s