house & garden

Every so often, we visit the cabin
where we first made love--
Long drive for a moment’s glance
confirming its decayed unrepair.

Then we drive by the red house
where I first nursed our baby girl
and our toddler tried to fly--
Cars rest on blocks in the yard.

My daylilies riot at that house.
My grandmother’s coveted peonies,
bleeding hearts, hosta shine like
dispirited jewels in the cabin garden.

Once home, we confront the stand
of leggy weeds I have yet to cut back--  
That first year, hoping for blossoms
of black-eyed Susan or Anne’s lace.

Bare stalks encroaching each summer,
lilac might be nicer, or dogwood-- 
But I embrace the invading weeds.
They seem to keep our home well tended.

Poem #7 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans.