Old Winter House

Two-story farmhouse
moved from country to town.
Temporarily up on blocks.
Set down in an abandoned pasture
at the edge of town.

Never built to be snug.
Straw bales stacked two-high
around its crawl space -
to keep pipes from freezing.
Surrounded by shallow ponds
dug out for watering horses,
come spring melt.

Until then -
winter wind rattles its windows,
rushing around loose frames.
The howling seems to come from
a long way off.

Miniature snow drifts form
on the sills, on the
cracked linoleum floor,
on the bed blanket -
to remain until morning.
No reason to melt.

Warm breath on cracked panes
creates crystal patterns, connecting
frigid, lacey landscapes
continuous with the
frozen outside.

       -Clem Nagel (from my first book of poetry,
                              Prairie Sky, Prairie Ground)


Today, as the wind howls outside and fresh snow
whips around to find a resting place for the duration
of winter . . . I think of that old house. The creaky
stairs, the uneven floors that often shifted (made for
challenging games of marbles!), the wavy glass windows
that distorted what you saw outside. Someday, I will
write something honoring those defiant, desperate,
determined ways of living. Some of my friends lived in
chicken coops, some in "basement homes" where the
actual above-ground house never was completed.

(Comments are welcome! Just check on the word "comments" below)