The expression “no place like home” is not always true. For many people home is a nightmare, but home used in a more abstract sense, calling ones own being or spirit their home makes the expression more valid. This poem, written in a minimal style, invites the reader to travel along with the narrator on a pathway back home. It is the end of the day, know the feeling? He is tired, but unlike most of us who would be grumbling he is at peace. Our friend here knows a great secret, it’s the little everyday things that bring happiness, and life doesn’t have to be opulent to be called successful. There is joy in the simple and humble.
“Midwestern Landscape with Boots”
on jade melmac
my clod-hopper boots on a path
near the end of the day
across the tilled fields distant hills sink
pales of grass
matted beneath fawn
slender in girth
breath
imperceptible
spring
freeze and thaw
earth breaking down
into a table
set
by the stove
flatware and plates
potatoes
onions
carrots
fork-tender meat
falling apart into sunset
Note: both poem and art are my original work;
the poem first appeared in publication at
Indiana Voice Literary Journal.
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