by Jean Nordhaus
Of wood. Of stone. Of earth. Of ice.
Some chicken wire, a few geranium seeds.
A mat. A stake. A shell. I knew a man
whose longing was his home. A woman
who built a nest in the wreckage of lust.
A child who lived in the house of her hands,
whose fingers were her only friends.
I knew a lover whose foundation stone
was flight. A tune that lodged all night
in a creaking limb. A penstemon
that pitched its tent in an open field.
A crested lark whose home was all
of Portugal. I knew a foot soldier whose flag
was winding cloth. His home
was in the ground. A prayer may be a home.
A wish. A vow. Some mansions are of sorrow,
some of hope. Of leaves. Of hay. Of wind.
I’ll build my house of skin. My roof of sky.
(This poem originally appeared in the Gettysburg Review)
Thanks for sharing this poem! I'll share this with my luxury home builders friends.
ReplyDeleteI was looking through houses for rent in Northern Kentucky, and this poem makes perfect sense. Thank you so much for sharing this poem.
ReplyDeleteI love how this poem captures all the emotions of both home builders and owners. Sharing this lovely poem with Long Island home builders I know.
ReplyDelete