An Uncertainty of Direction
Odd angles.
Strange light.
Just a chair or two.
Light comes in through the windows.
The floors and foundations are finished.
The walls lack plaster in spots
and you are unsure whether you are in the midst
of a restoration
or slow collapse.
No matter. You are content
to savor things as they are,
imagine them as they were,
and anticipate the possibilities.
About this poem
The picture is of Poplar Forest, Thomas Jefferson’s other house. Less famous than Montecillo and surely less famous, a work in progress, I love it more. It reminds me of the people we love. Wonderful where they are, flaws and all. Wonderful where they have been. And wonderful in what they might become.
Tom
