The pond is overflowing, fish leap onto the path
Flopping on the stone steps trying to make their way back
Over the boundary walls that have crumbled in the rain.
Of all the house and garden, only muddy waters remain
As I wade in through the gates, mud squelching between toes
That have seeped in through the skin of my shoes
I stand upon the site of the bones of the old house
Bones that have now been picked clean by us.
The trees nod their heads as if they were waiting
For me to remember, not knowing that forgetting
Is not a choice. I look though eyes blinded by tears
And pretend it is the rain. And I know that I falter
Feeling like that fish flopping about on this land
Flailing to find my way home…
2 Comments Add yours
Yes, a lot of longing goes in there! So glad you liked the poem!
I can imagine the scene as I read this … for people who have left home – we are always “flailing to find our way home” 😔