FIXER-UPPER

 

The search for home began in childhood.
White picket fences, milk bottles on doorsteps,
safe imagined domesticity,
made her cry.
As a young unhappy wife, she walked
city streets by the hour,
after dark,
looking in at the warmly-lit rooms
of others.
She still remembers a young woman
reading a book, looking up, smiling,
as a young man brought her a cup of tea.
Her wonderment, that such a life could be.

As a single mom of four, she pushed
baby buggies up and down country roads,
kibitzing women hanging washing
on the line, men washing their cars.
The dinner hour,
with all the fathers coming home,
was a hard time of day at first, until
she realized she was happier
and laughed more when it was
just her and the kids.

Finally, she managed
a home of her own - a run-down trailer
in a trailer park,
a total fixer-upper.
She rolled up her sleeves
and made it home.
By then she was joyously walking beaches
and forest trails.
It had taken half her life,
but she didn't have to
walk past rows of
other peoples' houses

any more.

For Carrie at The Sunday Muse