{"id":32728,"date":"2017-08-05T11:24:28","date_gmt":"2017-08-05T15:24:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=32728"},"modified":"2017-08-05T11:24:28","modified_gmt":"2017-08-05T15:24:28","slug":"hour-three-once-i-was-a-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2017\/08\/hour-three-once-i-was-a-home\/","title":{"rendered":"Hour three Once I Was a Home"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>03 2017 poetry marathon  prompt: photo of derelict building in high desert, snow and tumbleweeds.<\/p>\n<p>Once I Was a Home<br \/>\nby Paul Robert Sanford<\/p>\n<p>I&#8217;m not from around here.<br \/>\nAll there is to build with here is sandy dirt and scrub brush.<br \/>\nEvery board and nail and roll of tar paper had to be trucked in<br \/>\nso I could stand out in the sere landscape,<br \/>\na monument to civilization and comfort.<\/p>\n<p>I know who lived here.<br \/>\nThey had coffee in the morning and sometimes raised their eyes to gaze at the mountains.<br \/>\nNot a lot to do here but mountain gazing and walks under the open sky.<br \/>\nThat&#8217;s okay.  I was shelter for a quiet life.<\/p>\n<p>Not that there wasn&#8217;t always something to putter around and take care of.<br \/>\nThe fine grit swept in with the wind and on shoes and had to be swept out.<br \/>\nWind blew the tar paper loose and it had to be tacked back in place.<br \/>\nThe roof was too flat to shed all the snow, and once in a few years needed to be shoveled off.<\/p>\n<p>Eventually the last house before the miles before the mountains<br \/>\nis a hard place to live in,<br \/>\nespecially when you are alone and older.<br \/>\nThe winters seem colder,<br \/>\nand the garbage molders before being carted out.<br \/>\nthe place gets a lived in feel, surrounded by half mended projects,<br \/>\nwindows begin to stick open or shut,<br \/>\ncoffee doesn&#8217;t satisfy as well.<\/p>\n<p>I remember an illness, an injury, a time laid up in bed,<br \/>\nwhen anxious kin folks rolled up on off road vehicles,<br \/>\nnotified by the local storekeeper that it had been a long time since.<br \/>\nArguments, sulking, demands and refusals.<br \/>\nCycles of negotiations and calm followed by alarms and visits.<\/p>\n<p>Sooner or later a person lacks the strength to keep the place up.<br \/>\nSooner of later a person lacks the strength to argue or fight back.<br \/>\nThe lowlanders win and I am empty and alone.<\/p>\n<p>My only visitors stay long enough to bust out windows and throw trash about.<br \/>\nSoon enough I offer very little shelter beyond a bit of shade,<br \/>\nperhaps a windbreak if the wind comes from the right direction.<\/p>\n<p>Once I was a home, but that time is forgotten now.<br \/>\nIf it weren&#8217;t so much trouble, the lowlanders would probably tear me down.<br \/>\nDon&#8217;t worry, give me enough years and I will fall.<br \/>\nI don&#8217;t want to return where I came from.<br \/>\nI am home to stay. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>03 2017 poetry marathon prompt: photo of derelict building in high desert, snow and tumbleweeds. Once I Was a Home by Paul Robert Sanford I&#8217;m not from around here. All there is to build with here is sandy dirt and scrub brush. Every board and&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":736,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-32728","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32728","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/736"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=32728"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32728\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":32960,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32728\/revisions\/32960"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=32728"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=32728"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=32728"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}