First, love builds
a house. It shields
you from rain.
It guards you
from wind. It
makes altars
for your most prized
possessions. Then,
and quite some time might pass,
love razes the house to the ground.
Tornado, perhaps, or
termites. It doesn’t much
matter how slow or fast.
It’s gone. The house
is gone. And then,
in the rubble, the silence,
the eternity
before you move
to refashion the scraps,
love whispers, and only
some will hear,
No darling, you
don’t need the house.
And then love is everywhere.
You have told my story.
When I was first married I left messages in red lipstick on bathroom mirrors.
I made sandwiches with hidden notes inside so he could bite down on my love and we’d both see it was real.
I was gathering evidence.
Then came the termites and tornados.
Sometimes I’m too wiggly to allow Stillness to have Her way with me.
But when I allow…
There is this abundance of invisible quiet that softens my skin.
I need no reflected messages, nor tastes of swallowed love.
Thank you for this poem.
Oh sweet Rebecca, You have felt it, too. This is beautiful reflection. Thank you for sharing it …
As usual, a fine, fine ending, to turn that metaphorical house on its head. so to speak. I especially liked that line about love making “altars for your most prized possessions.” The sacrifice slips in so easily there, a reader can tell the crumbling is not far off.