There was an acre of land
that I bought for $300,000
4 years ago to the day.
That is what I remember.

We had 2 horses, Rich and Poor
and they were inseparable.
A typical barn of red with big doors
that opened to bales of hay held them.

The lot was squared off with pine
that leaked sap onto the driveway.
It stuck to the bottoms of our shoes
and sounded like duct tape being removed.

It’s been 4 years since
we gave it all up and moved up north,
away from the damned rat race
and the traffic and the bourgeoisie.

It was rough at first.
To keep the chickens happy,
as well as the fig trees,
we were always chasing the clock.

But it became sweetly routine.
Our bodies adjusted to the
bending and shoveling, the shaking.
We fell in love again during harvests.

I bought her denim suspenders.
We would’ve laughed at this sight
mere years ago, but then and there
she was the land and I tilled her heart.

We knew water wouldn’t last forever.
It is Northern California, with an
impending dust bowl.
Our dream would vanish someday.

The chickens were sold
and so was the barn and the acre.
We bought a modest place
packed away in the wood.

We still talk about Rich and Poor.
We argue over our favorites.
She loved Rich, big and strong,
a face of white snowy blotches.

Poor had a gimp leg, always in pain.
it broke her heart.
It would whimper in the morning
while she sipped her tea.

We put it to sleep before the winter.
Rich was alone with all his muscle
and no one to flex for.
He refused to eat and later passed.

We seemed to be losing so much.
But in that moment we grasped
each other's hand like we were
holding on to the steering wheel of life.

Land is land, squared and measured,
sold in bundles, exchanged.
We watched the sun setting
with our lips wet with wine.

We lost only space, and filled it
with all that we had left -
our hearts beating into the night
waking to a new silence.

09/01/2014

Posted on 12/10/2015
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