Homestead
       

They took the cabin apart
log by log and moved it
down the mountain

so the lake could wash
in the windows
and out the mouths

of their daughter and son,
carved numbers in the beams
before carrying them away

so the wood could come back
together again into a house
and not accidentally

a boat or a tall tree.
The girl and boy played
games hiding toys

in the cracks between logs,
finding them again using clues
written in the wet sand

by the porch where the robins
wandered as the snow turned
pink on the mountains.

At night new syllables
rushed whitecapped across
the children's tongues,

flowing from one pillow
to the other. Outside
the bedroom door,

their parents marveled
at how quickly water
cuts through earth.

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Copyright © 2021 Alice Pettway All rights reserved
from Rattle
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission