I love it here.
The raw earth of it.
The deep gritty life of this place.
There was nothing like it in my previous days
my previous homes.
Unless you count time abroad
living from suitcases in spare bedrooms
workshop back rooms
tucked-away artist residences;
my ‘home’ has never been so very-
I look out across the street from my favored perch-level with the birds on the wires,
wires that still criss cross these streets, yards, roofs-
buried cables have not happened here yet-
Aesthetic appropriation has yet to take center stage
Yet there is such, I don’t know,
It’s raw; like the rusted bits leaving makes on silk, or tar smear and smudge into paintings,
this raw is so
Why? I ask. Why beautiful? Why does this place, from this perch especially, cause my heart to swell to the cage of my ribs?
Perhaps it is the held potential?
Perhaps it is the undercurrent of growth?
This place too, like my heart, can not be contained.
Like a pregnancy waiting to reveal itself,
or the goings-on behind butcher paper covered windows of an
‘opening soon’ shop,
my neighborhood breaths deep sighs of ‘…soon’….
I can feel it.
I can see it, from here in my third floor castle perch,
my neighborhood, swelling and sighing,
breathing deep the held breath of decades,
and I get to be a part.