Wednesday 26 February 2014

A House Flew By

Blowing up Highway 63
somewhere north of
the Wandering river, going
about 130 km
half a house blew by.
Snugly wrapped in
miles of Tyvek© and
red tape, an oversized birthday present
lacking only a bow. Windows and doors
secured, there would be no
flapping, no missing parts here.

Up and over the hill and around
the curve of the road the
second half pulled up behind me.
There I was, sandwiched
between a house and not feeling
a pinch nor grind of timbers. Not even
a poke of a nail. An odd place
to find myself.

It occurred to me then
the portability of lives. Lives lived,
scattered over country and continents. Held
loosely together by
the bonds of inherited blood and
once shared history. Unsure the ties
were strong enough to hold against
the distance and time that
assaults us all.

That was when I discovered
it’s better to pass after
we cleared the bridge, not before,
and definitely not during as
I held my breath and
made promises I
wasn’t capable of
to a god
I didn’t believe in.

by Cathy Yard
Words In Motion 2014

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