I Want a House

Nature will bear the closest inspection.
She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf,
and take an insect view of its plain.

This is a poetry exercise that I borrowed from a poet I met in Mexico. I was fascinated by the poem that she wrote, in part because I really like the poem, and in part because I could see that it came from a writing exercise. I asked her if I could use this poem as part of an exercise to share with poets. And she said yes.

The instructions to the exercise must have gone something like this:

Sit and breath easy until you are happy and relaxed. Then begin to write. Describe your vision of a perfect house. House in this instance is not an actual abode. It is a Jungian symbol sort of thing representing your spiritual milieu, or some such thing. Sort of like that "Pleased or Displeased" they played when I was a girl. In this case, what would your evolving spirit really like to have in a way of a place to live and thrive?

What I recommend is doing a free ranging free write, and then just picking out the lines that appeal to you.

Describe Your Ideal House
         by Karen Nelson

I want a house with no roof
where I see stars all night,
see them leave when
morning duck-gray light
comes and the sun
aligns itself with the horizon.

I want a house with no windows,
only sills
where I put my eat out to catch raindrops
and tiny sparrows.

I want a house with no doors
where roosters come for breakfast
eat the corn I spread for them.

I want a house with no cross beams
space for sunsets
red plumes and frames fall
head on into darkness.

I want a house with no floor,
rocks and boards and apple cores,
some place to plant tulips,
watch orange and yellow sprout.

I want a house that warms me,
some heat on my red hair
where rhythms and birches sway,
and one banyan tree grows up
inside, and I won’t know
it’s there.

Here is the poem I wrote in response to Karen’s poem:

I want a house where grand kids can romp
where there is time
where herbs perfume the air and someone else does the work.
no I want the house to look after itself
I want to live in the Holiday Inn where the hired help come in
when I am out at the park admiring the flowers someone else
planted in clever designs.
No I do not want the maid to come in while I am gone, I
want to take my one book I am reading, a nice tablet, a box
of paints and my computer and move on to a new room with
different generic pictures on the walls carefully chosen by
someone else to match the unobtrusive yet dustless furniture.
I want to waltz down to a breakfast chosen by Sr Garcia
with the large smile—fruit and juice and fresh eggs or Mexican Oatmeal.
I want to be driven to someone else’s homey kitchen and
gather around the table with the best minds of our time and
listen to them giggle.