Monday, January 3, 2011

Home Body

Home Body

The home is, itself, a body.
It exists outside of you, not
for your purposes only. A home
has needs, and creates them
in us. The shower head dribbles,
its mouth clogged with calcium,
and your wet hair is reluctant
to release the slick conditioner.
You patch the peeling plaster
on the ceiling, crumbling
because a cracked shingle
lets in snow that becomes water,
and comes in. The home is a body
of work. You collaborate with it.
It is happy to work alongside you
and with the land outside it.
When you go from it for good,
it recalls you, keeps your hair
in its pipes and the mint you placed
into the dirt just outside the door.
It still works itself up to be torn.


  1. What a wonderful way that you've turned the poem from the home "is, itself, a body" to the home that "is a body of work" - a great pair of lines, as is your concluding "It still works itself up to be torn".

  2. Only you could think of I am thinking of all the ways I collaborate with my home. I wonder how it feels about my thunderous neighbors! xoxo

  3. It's always sad when neighbors let their bodies slip into foreclosure.

  4. Yes, a home is a body of work. Ours talks to us all of the time. We are home bodies collaborating with our home body. It's kind of homey.

  5. Great poem. I love your idea that the home "recalls you, keeps your hair/ in its pipes and the mint you placed ..." The reality of the last line is also striking. Always a pleasure to read your work.


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