April 1 (NaPoWriMo experiment)

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I guess it’s too late
to live on a farm.

As if I could buy a house!
Let alone land.

A place of my own–
is what my friend sighed,

our someday dream,
our loftiest goal.

Today again I paid
to learn, watching

refugees sit and wait
for their bus, and asked

the doctor what the term
really means–

she couldn’t say
exact qualifications,

just that for some
recognized reason,

a person had to leave
their homeland.

But, had a home.
And have a new home,

here, or housing at least,
much more than those

that exist in doorways,
or under the bridge

in tents that spring up
like mushrooms when it rains.

And how they also pay,
if not in money. Living

is costly. At some point
we all get priced out–

a roof, a room, a house,
a home. If you’ve got nothing

to trade, to leverage, to sell–
then it’s too late to live

on a farm, too late to dream,
what’s left is to work

in the fields
that someone else

can somehow afford
to own.

19 Comments

  1. strangerseverywhere says

    I guess you are an expert writter. Thank you for your amazing writes.

    Like

  2. I’ve been homeless for six months and, while it is often inconvenient, and sometimes uncomfortable, it is also freeing in a number of ways. People I meet while homeless are interesting puzzles, both the ones who are comfortably living in a place of their own, and those who are, like me, homeless.

    My work in painting, drawing, writing, and music have changed a lot.

    The main work, though is between my ears; my headspace badly needs to redecorated. Your poem is good for that.

    Like

    • Thank you for your thoughtful comment– I work in a hospital, so mainly see the inconvenient/painful side effects of being homeless. I completely agree about interesting puzzles!

      Like

  3. Pingback: Celebrating Poetry, All Month Long - WP Creative

  4. Pingback: Impulse || Home

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