if not
surrounded by
orderly rooms, warmed
through communication
resting wholly
upon
trust
family homes
calling all members worth
secure our minds embryo
welcoming each
person
into
this world God
works out for our use and
His miracles continuing we
His gifts enjoy
as we
alive
work through
patterns grown or failing,
not fading, just simply all
have become
born
into
a family of
people, the species that
insists on improving our
selves, un-
doing
in many
cases of days
lived guessing, leaping from
ordered rooms, the family home,
the one shared
family.
The child left when her parents did. She sorted herself weekly, resorted
to worlds and ways given to homes without walls. The child counted her
years grown by number, not caring, or too warded, too worn to care for
a house with family, family that could have its spelling changed in loud
contests, small wars ending the rooms that would have continued hers.
Hasn't this happened in novels for centuries? Boys and girls lost to progress,
to natural causes, to unnatural, or too invisible matters boiled easiest down to
violence. Sad, more than sad, for where does she go? How will anyone reach
who she is shaping herself to be, unknowing, cooperative lovely youth, angry
and given to much pain, the kind she thinks is home. A new home she builds.