Boundaries creep up.
Unexpected walls grow in rooms.
Moving through the house requires
walking a twisting labyrinth.
Every foot fall necessitates careful planning.
Underfoot a future dog bounces
through the rooms. He’s unconcerned
by moving walls and sudden twists and turns
and unconcerned that he is in his own
self-important way a boundary.
Planning the future gives you a sense
of control. But life has a way of taking
over. Kids move back in with way more stuff
than they took away as unconcerned as the
puppy they agree to adopt.
We stuff, we sort, we box up what
can not be put away. Watch the walls
go up all cardboard and plastic. What
does not grow up grows out, spreads
in random profusion until we
don’t know which wall we own,
which new table we created.
Was it our pile of paper that blew
away in the wind from the open door
so puppy can go outside?
We are bounded on all sides
by twenty something’s, a
grey bouncing fluff ball and our own
growing pile of conjugated property.
And yet we are bounded by joy.