April 7, 2016

The House in the Middle of the Block

Give me the luxuries of life and I will willingly do without the necessities. 
—Frank Lloyd Wright 

 I.
          
          I stand at the sink sorting blueberries, tossing the soft ones into the compost pail habitually.
          We cannot keep the house.
          I am fertilizing someone else's garden.
          The idea seems obscene.
         After we've left, I swear never to drive by.          


II.

          Houses are the physical manifestation of our dreams, partners whose high traffic areas and familiar kitchen window views have grown as invisible, and as profoundly comforting, as a spouse. The rooms are half public facade, half private chamber—stylish but cluttered, the mail always sitting out on the table, the pendulum clock on the mantle catching the light. Daily, we are exasperated and privileged, embarrassed and proud. Guiltily, contentedly, dishes pile up.