I remembered to sink the corner
post deep, filled the hole with
Quikcrete, and topped it off
with dirt. Then double braced
it to a clean ninety-degree angle.
Most of us weren’t born here; we
built this home in affirmation
of a life we dreamed of, greater
than hooves or feathers, than
word or habit. But the elements
are not tame; the sun passes behind
clouds and winds blow icy rain in
cutting diagonal lines. What hasn’t
been blown away is left in mud that
has pulled the smell of death from
the dirt. For those buried here and
for those yet to find home, shore up
the foundation. A strong back lifting
worn tools; stretch the fencing to mark
the perimeter. Lean in, lay claim even
as the wind erases wood and concrete.
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