The New House Reveals Itself
By Lisa Vihos – Sheboygan Poet Laureate
Winter rain on icy ground
and nothing prepared me
for pools of water everywhere,
my basement floor buckling.
What kind of membrane
am I living in? Permeable,
it seems. Drain tile, the veins
and sump pump, the heart
said the weatherproofing man.
I did not know that a house
had a heart. I search daily
to find what muscle it is
that pumps life through
this structure that holds
my edges secure. Windows
for eyes, rooms for dreaming.
The kitchen, a fire in my belly,
the place where ideas are born.
Then comes a day in spring,
when tulips push through,
tulips planted by hands not mine.
I see a woman on her knees
in the grass, burying beauty
for some ingrate of the future.
But, no, I will not be that.
For, there, just there, I see it.
Tender tips of salmon red,
flamed with strokes of yellow.
The heart of the house,
making itself known to me.
Note: This poem also appears in Verse-Virtual, April, 2022