The Cottage
Amid the chaos of wandering, we carry a home
between us, man and woman; the promise
of a snug corner, beside the untamed coast
of your Gaelic homeland, where our restless souls
will find sanctuary, surrounded by books, cats,
a burgeoning garden.  I’ll knit near a fireplace…
no, wait—let’s be realistic:  I won’t knit,
and I probably won’t cook, either—point is,
we’ll have our spot, where the past can be healed,
regret swept away.  And on quiet, tea-filled nights,
when the boredom seeps in, we’ll talk wildly
of Madagascar, and why shouldn’t we go,
in spite of our broken, journeyed bodies?
We probably will!  Does it matter
if it’s a condo in the Carolinas?  Cheap wine,
and a space heater?  Or Vegas, and a dog?  Because,
I know that when storms come, as they always do,
you’ll help me cover the windows, and kiss me
on the nose, whether it be a mansion, a studio,
or gypsy caravan:  We carry it, wherever we go.

Lauren Tivey

If you have any comments on this poem, Lauren Tivey would be pleased to hear them.