Where I live
is not a place
of stuccoed walls and oak doors
arranged to fit
all that I am
into neat little boxes
with paved driveways
and garbage pickup on Mondays
My heart is wild
full of weeds and brambles
tree roots above ground
ready to trip the unwary visitor
and smells of pines needles
and elderberries
It’s sacred
full of the history of ancestors
whose remains are still felt
in the memories that whisper their stories
It’s resilient
like the frozen spring
which breaks free
from winter’s earth
determined to breath again
It’s simplicity
complex in emotion
but able to stand strong or wither
with a simple word
One day it will stop
like the mill wheel
when the river runs dry
And when it does
when my heart’s beat ceases
and lets me go
I will move on
and let my spirit find
another place to call home
Originally posted on https://tmcfarlanewriter.wordpress.com/2021/05/02/where-i-live/
