I woke—my room, my house, my car -
I put them on like layers of fat,
To hide the blinding rays
Of my true beauty. Pet my cat,
Eat my toast, and go out and play
My (unknown) role in a play
Not particularly of my choosing.
The waters in my hidden lake were shallow,
Full of snags and unknown junk,
And I don’t know the way to where it lies
Behind the mountains of my daily life.
****
Spirit House 1998
Hills of flowers, white and gold,
Deserted homestead, someone’s old
Neglected mansion, full of dreams
Long abandoned; now it seems
That only I am here to see—
That only I am now set free.
The family’s gone; a tire swing
Idly waits what storms will bring,
A nest of robins, a rusted gate,
No childish laughter, it’s too late.
The dog has died; the cats are feral—
Alone I whisper, “My name is Carol.”
Father, mother, sister gone,
Leaves are turning, time moves on.
Houses fall and barns decay,
Weeds take over, ghosts still play.
In the pasture autumn leaves lie,