“The Rotten Remains, Summer 2020”

Ink and Gouache on paper, 5”x7”

“En plein air”, front yard

Western North Carolina,

end of August 2020.

Neglected then, as now,

as the equinox approaches.

Seeds planted in sunnier days —

now overgrown and undisciplined,

reduced to sprawl beyond their tipped and bent cages,

to conquer the futility of my binding measures.

For their persistent efforts-fruit-

fallen, forgotten, foregone.

The new landlord cratered a hole in the yard —

an attempt to locate cracks in the foundation,

Mud and stone were piled round a yawning pit-

with a caution- don’t fall in.

The basin, abandoned to the elements,

promptly after excavation,

now gathers rainwater and runoff

to drain beneath the crumbling concrete;

washing away the half-hearted measures,

with ever-increasing effectiveness.

These simple symbols,

reminders, really,

or maybe metaphors for

sprawl, waste, tangled irresponsibility,

branches snapping under their own weight;

sweetness unsavored.

Shifting sands under national decay,

foundations built on swamp and bones-

with permanent structural damage

deemed dangerous,

still inhabited — despite deferred maintenance,

despite demands for overdue repair.

Structural rot, so unstable,

must be razed and raised again.

The truth, the painful-hard truth,

(now lost to the lie of comfort)

to produce and enjoy good fruit,

to rest in stable homes which welcome all-

requires generous,

patient,

hard work.

We must stand before the mess,

resolve to rebuild.

Move with urgency.

Rescue the goodness amongst the decay.

Else, we have nothing to show

but a pit of sludge and bed of weeds.