I first really noticed her
when she was waddling out of the
bathroom door – either because her
hip was plastic or her tolerance
was low.
has been here about 25 years.
She's probably lived 3 times that long.
And this place was built
piece by piece,
showing more staples than nails,
more tin roof than thatch –
at least as of late.
The antique scale is precise,
the same as the nurse said
yesterday but without the broken
stoplight and the working
neon yellow beacon
telling me Corona lives here
by way of the patron's rent money.
The oak tree dome is now filling
in the gaps of winter, and
the government just told me I have
one more hour of daylight to
to spend.
This place makes me happy.
Reminiscent of the smiles
she puts on her grandkids faces
when they simply think of
the candy dish that permanently
lives on her coffee table and
seems to never spend its savings.
If the grandkids only knew how
hard the candy had to work
to pay for the glass house,
they'd think twice before they
threw their favorite rock
at the solipsist that always
ducks.
It's a small price to pay
for happiness – ducking once in a while.
If it was built in a day,
maybe the refuge would be enough to
stop the rocks and the occasional
dodging dance.
But it never is.
Just ask your grandmother.
This article appears in Jul 15-21, 2009.