How’s the house?
A casual question,
Asked by upon encounter,
Much like, “How’s the weather?”,
A placeholder for deeper conversation.
How’s the house?
It’s tarp-covered, leaky
With cracked crumbling plaster,
The ceiling open to rafters and wildlife.
It sits as it did six months ago.
How’s the house?
It’s chaotic,
A jumble not knowing where anything is,
A reminder of too many belongings
Stuffed into too small a space,
A longing for normalcy.
How’s the house?
It’s dreams of what might be,
Rebuilt better…someday,
An empty hulk with potential,
The metaphor for my current state.
How’s the house?
A question that expresses concern,
But serves as constant reminder of loss.
How about, instead…
What new songs have you learned?
Have you explored anything cool, lately?
What shows do you like?
Have you heard this bit of inappropriate humor?
How’s your life, apart from the house?
A poem written after a night of answering that very question, then dreaming about it. This Sunday marks seven months since Hurricane Helene. I often wonder what we would be doing had the storm not taken out our house.
But, there’s hope on the horizon. We met with our project director yesterday, and today there’s a big dumpster in our yard so that they can start demolition. He said that it would still take 4-5 months for completion. We’ll see.