by Rachel Veale
in this place of ending
I tenderly step over the pieces
of a building no longer standing.
we built this together
cutting the wood by hand
pouring a foundation atop
a mutual decision to create a home in the other.
a garden sits in the yard
hours of my sweat mixed in soil
thick with Piedmont clay.
I had doubts in the dirt’s fertility
but planted anyway
dropping seeds
naked in their hope.
I now stand in the dust
of divergence.
within this emptiness, I see clearly:
a house cannot be supported by one beam.
in the garden,
the plants grow thick and wild
leaves pressing toward the sun.
// temporary shelter
