This House

This house that I have chosen is the containment of my grief

I rail against it regularly

Feel trapped inside it

Bored

And lonely

Vanquished by it. 

This house has borne the weight of my sorrows,

My sins. 

I return to it

Night after night

Seeking the comfort only it can give -

Its pillows piled high up on my four post bed;

Its sounds of my child's laughter;

The kitchen where we create together

Learning each of us

One from the other. 

Then there is the other resident

He is cold and silent

When he is not hot and flamboyant

Rebuffed and repulsed

Alternately

I never know how long these periods will last. 

 

This home I have changed

Though I lack the wherewithal or funds to 

Change it to my 

Satisfaction

Perhaps, had I the necessary skills and pocketbook,

I still would not be pleased. 

My taste and needs change with my

Moods and with

Age. 

This house where I tend the garden that

Never meets my dreams

Still provides me solace

Calms me

Protects me from storms 

Even when the roof leaks. 

This house - I like

This house - I dislike

I do not hate it. 

I wish I could change it;

I wish it could be my everything. 

But that is not the purpose of a house.