Jan/Feb 2022  •   Poetry  •   Special Feature

House Hunting

by Kelli Weldon

House Hunting

outside our little house I marveled
at stacks of chopped wood
plump tomatoes red and ripe on the vines next door
near white honeysuckle and morning glories I breathed, remarkable
my small fingers reach around the wires twining between our yards
my neighbor was a rare sight, a baseball cap
a sunshade for his kind face in the garden
he reminded me of my dad, but wasn't him
quiet and tall at least to me
the smile from his chair where he smoked cigarettes, never hollered, didn't mind me
and every year he strung up big colorful Christmas lights we loved
a simple home, a calmness, safeness, ease

now in my dim apartment with paper-thin walls, grimacing strangers upstairs,
dead leaves collecting in the small swimming pool across the complex
I peer through the shade, step barefoot onto the six foot concrete slab out back they call the patio
and imagine it

a shiny watering can, wealth of lumber in stacks,
thick glass candy dish full of Starbursts
something all my own
silent except buzzing bees nearby,
leaving me be