It could have been easier,
in the sense that,
the bricks I layed could have
been sturdier.
Foundations are all we have.

The peices of my family have crumbled,
an anyerism in my father, my uncle is lost in his own hell,
and I have yet to find
a peaceful moment
withwhich to settle my Self.
A childhood built and then destroyed,
A feast, a harvest, and then decay, the place settings
left where they lay,
the china abandoned,
and suddenly

I can find metephores in size. Weight and time.
Scales become a measurment of happiness,
ten thousand tons
of bricks
in a millstone around me.
Dragging my opinion of my mother, dragging my hopelessness
and worry for my father...
My brothers scattered
like
somuch
rain.
David has been sent to the desert with a gun
and some concrete,
engineering runways and on-ramps
in the sand.
I try not to send clay, but the dust billows
from the envelopes...

11/07/2004

Posted on 11/07/2004
Copyright © 2024 Vikki Owens