Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Nameless neighbors




Nameless friend, unnamed neighbors
dwell in multidimensions, emerge uncut
from sharp slicing seasons their unnumbered houses

Is it the same squirrel that watched  when I moved here
Mother after mother or son after father  
all are cat size huge, run for apples in afternoons

Cross the driveway, squeeze through the white  fence
avoid my house and use the house next door
there’s a tree next to it and wires for human communication  
comprise their highway

When I broke the grass into garden, chopping turf
I tossed  grubs,  to the orange breasted rob who watched,
dampened the pavement and shared useful worms

and for years longer than I thought they lived
He returned, he with the white patch circling one eye
He would turn to me and smile

more kindly than the idiots across the street
or the howling alchy  and small town druggies
the sad parade of mad folks renting next door

Decades of spring and earth rich summers
deep appreciations shared loves without names

1 comment:

  1. I've had consistent neighbors in the dozen years that I've lived in my place, but the units are too close together, and it feels claustrophobic. I wish I could live in a semi-rural area, where my nearest neighbor was a mile away!
    I'm visiting from the NaPoWriMo list. My team's blog is Poetry of the Netherworld.

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