Foundation
Mar 31 2009


This time of year
the ground softens
the house settles
the soil thaws.
Here, a rent in the wall,
a window cracked,
the foundation
buckled.

You’d wish a house to be bedrock;
a bulwark against the world,
a refuge
for weary bones.
But this
is a leaky vessel at sea —
ground-water
rushing against its prow,
concrete hull tottering,
drips
and blooms of mould.

The ground subsides, the house settles
sinking deeper still.
Until it finds its level,
locked solid
into mother earth.
So there are no straight lines, anymore,
where walls lean
floors pitch
and doors stick closed.

This is when a house
is home;
with all the blind-spots you no longer see
with all its idiosyncrasies.
It fits easily, here.
And the strong foundation
underneath your feet
is all you could have wished for.