HOUSE, a poem for two voices

HOUSE


It must have been a meter high, at least
The grass, the hedge lost in front of the house
Through which we pushed
To reach the door
And this is home.
On either side the plaster cracked
Exposed a sight not seen
For nearly 50 years of
Bricks and stones stacked one
Upon another with my bare hands, plaster rendered.
Hollows in the field where I pulled out stones
I filled with trees and more trees putting down roots
Wondering if I should see many to maturity.
Trees which have been neglected
Now need pruning or removing
Since their yield has been
Exhausted as I was stacking bricks on stones
Day in, day out to build my house, my home.
Well cut some down and plant others.
Well rebuild walls using his tools
The axe, the shovel, the saw.
I built walls and planted my orchard.
Four years since they fell into disuse
For years since I left the fruit upon the branch
The grapes on the vine simply wither and fall.
Are not to our taste,
But well keep the old apple
Propped up with branches and magical
Under which we pass still fruits, miraculously,
Finding our way through the orchard
Entering another world
Following a well - worn trail
Quietly, through the orchard
Down to the spring.
Down to the waters source.