what they don’t explain is that you will want new ones
like rafts, the stony shore
life gone listless watching another death
a dying orange tree
you wanted the house because of its
globes, bright orange ornamentals
the morning sun full of juice
you could squeeze
~
after seasons and seasons and seasons there is a husk of years
walls closed in around what was supposed to be a dream
but wasn’t
~
the tree
its difficult death like a mercy
gummed sap, folded leaves
~
there are silences in the house as the walls breathe back their memories
of the pets, the gardens, the imaginings
why is it you want to run?
how fast can you start the car
loud music screaming from the speakers
where would you go?
after they’ve all gone
~
where would you put the ashes of a lost life?
your mother and your grandfather await the sea
that casting you’ve been working up to
~
it seems like nests are chapters
books you might write
the next house beckons bright
on some small island where you could be unknown
already planning that raft
1928 beams in a Spanish grove
an alternate universe of mosaics
~
“nests” —— copyright 2011 — all rights reserved
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 