My Home

 

Image created by Bing AI

My Home

I

I am the garden.

I am sure you have guessed this by now from the way

I keep lamenting about the change of seasons,

the fallen apples, the broken branches,

the general asymmetry of trees

and the way the birds repeat themselves.

I am the garden.

The metaphor is not original.

I know you expected more.

II

It is important to believe that the garden still exists,

just as we left it.

That we didn’t dream it up.

III

We conspired to stay here forever,

but the house crumbled around us.

The house is gone from the maps.

The river rose and washed it away.

We found ourselves, stranded,

at the top of the hill,

a new-born sea raging beneath us.

IV

Did I do this? 

Did I neglect details

in my visions of you?

Did you crumble while waiting for me to notice

the misplaced brick,

the crude carpentry,

the lack of structure, 

the failure to keep it all

under control? 

Or was it my inflated ego

that made me believe 

I was a builder?

V

You cut that cherry tree 

that was protecting my entrance. 

You exposed me to the winds. 

Draft got in and now  

I am always cold.

VI

I am going home.

My decision is final.

I will find my home

exactly as I left it.

Not a brick will be missing.

My home, as I wrote it down.

My palace, as I painted it.

GloPoWriMo Day 23