April Poetry | The Family Estate

The Family Estate

— Margie Doyle —

I return to weed the walkway
To uncover from the moss and dirt and rampant flower weeds
A welcoming broken-brick path
Fashioned from the neighbor’s old chimney

I revel in what this home has become
A place where my son makes dinner and hold his boys in both arms
And their mother waits an eternity,
coaxing her baby to come down the steep stairs backwards, in a soft, low secure voice.

I greet my neighbor who couldn’t stop crying when her husband died early
After living a good life of carpentry, Indians, Rilke and songs
I sang “Pie Jesu” to them before he died
Sweet Jesus, grant us eternal rest always peace
Five years later Beth is watering her plants and saying work is hard
Her kind man is moving in with her and taking the ferry back and forth
Maybe she will get some rest

And then, my therapy, I do the dishes,
Savoring the hot soapy water and the clean smells as the dishes stack symmetrically
They dry as I rinse off more dishes
Then I put the first batch away
And do more
And repeat
I know my mother, who moved here when my father died early, would be happy
I am happy