Thursday, December 29, 2011


Click here, then read.

One strange day, I heard noise.
It was the day I entered a family of noisy people.
Before that, it was just the rush
of my mother’s blood around me.

43 years later I listen to buzz saws and shouting,
a neighbor’s home being demolished,
the one next to mine
shingle by shingle.

How do those people get a new house
and I have to keep living.

Neighbors gossip: They’re illegal. The dad’s been in jail.
Living in a noisy bubble, we have in sight a good mother
but are not yet seeing.

This is doing nothing for our necks,
twisted and stretched,
still looking for neighbors.

1 comment:

  1. Wow, Kate! I get a feeling of being discontent; then a moment of perspective, only it's elusive or not fully accepted. I'd be interested in your inspiration here. A provocative read!