We stirred up the spiders with our discontent
We abdicated our souls in the evening and by morning we had resolved to do it all again
We learned to live with the constant droning of disappointment
It sounded like the slight movement of leaves as we hid from God in that garden
It sounded like the footsteps that couldn’t be heard or seen
It sounded like the question, “Why aren’t you here with me?”
We learned to hide and flee from the footsteps and the questions
And we learned to live with that droning, brooding, humming let down
We have yet to pass on from this old farm house our ancestors built
I am stirred to sit even longer
And stare at the children’s toys dumped in this room, I see a torn couch, a bookshelf, a folded flag, tired carpet
I remember hiding in the brush, how green the leaves were, how bright the berries, how the wind perfectly swayed from one side of the universe to the other
And that droning, brooding, humming let down
We have learned the sound of guilt
It sounded like the slaughter of that animal in that garden
It sounded like ripping its coat from the bones we had already broken
It felt like wild fur ending our nakedness
It felt like a let down
And yet I am stirred to sit even longer
The children’s toys have all lost their sharp edges and joy
The furniture is perfectly misaligned in this room
The books have fallen into stacks that mean nothing
The carpet is stained from the horror that came home with that folded flag
But we awake, abdicate, disappoint
Too afraid to leave the brush
Too calloused to hear questions and hear the footsteps
Too determined to recognize the storms gathering in the high places above this old farm house
