Shapes

A home shapes you.
Me, I am shaped like the side of a hill.
Steeping over the pond
Watching neighbors get ready for floods.

My habits collect
In the southeast corner of my life,
Because of the slant of the floor
and the laws of inertia.

It’s what we could afford
And I am what I afforded.

I am sided, not painted,
Vinyl is, of course,
A carbohydrate,
wrapped around this bread and butter frame.

Our friends climb in and roll out.
Because I don’t listen for,
And I don’t hear,
the sound of the doorbell.

The rain rolls over and through me.
And the wind cracks shingles and brick
But time, most of all,
is what makes us ourselves

A home shapes you.
Me, I am shaped like the side of a hill.

Andrew Furst is a poet, author, Buddhist teacher, photographer, artist, musician, and a technologist. His poetry has appeared in Levee Magazine, Rue Scribe, Spectrum Literary Journal, and Failed Haiku. Learn more about Andrew by visiting www.andrewfurst.net