Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Kit Kelen #937 - the keys

the keys

to houses long gone
are passed on from parents to children
as if there were a hope of return

when there never was a country
and now that country is gone

half a century more
since the bulldozers
since thieves took the whole quarter
the village, the suburb, the town

and they have better bulldozers now

can we ever come back?
return to the land?

here are the keys for another world
to where time stood

you have to imagine the doors
and the dinner, the children, the telling
the truth of who we are

which key for which door?
who will remember?

there never was any water here
but we could always find it

always like this
a stoop in the still
then the big desert winds

village swept off
town over town
a city then empires
each from another's dust

and the key to the house
to the country, the heart

can't remember if I turned off the stove
can't remember if the door was locked
that's what the key is for

their houses
their country
their hearts
their keys

a pile of rust
in our hands

the past will always return to you here
that is the curse of the place

1 comment:

  1. we never know when it might be needed, the world a clearing house for locks. What a tight poem Kit.


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.