Poem of the Week: Starting from Scratch

by Ingrid Wendt

In honour of last week's Poem of the Week being put off by my move (as was the whole blog, of course), here's a poem about that very thing. (Moving home, I mean, not putting off blog updates.)

To begin with, none of your neighbors began here.
Everyone moved in years before you moved into
a pattern you found yourself part of
before you intended: flowers, fences,
attention to details your mother always took care of,
duller than film on dishes it was always your job to wipe.
Nobody spoke about courage.

Nobody said you could choose this life.
It happened, it didn't, the fact
you could choose to remain would become
what's yours to control: hours
of sleeping and waking, meals, the home
you need to go out in the world from.
Neighborhood customs you know you can count on.

Recipes, grapes exchanged for zucchini, the garden
someone will know when to plant.
The book you suggest. The pattern of limits
no one has asked for, told over coffee, lives
like yours you could have become
starting from scratch. Each day
the way you will live before what comes next.

Starting from Scratch is taken from Wendt's collection Moving the House, which features a number of poems on this subject. I'm uncertain of its copyright status, but the whole thing's available online for free here (with some copyright info that may or may not be relevant). There's also biographical detail and the like there if you're interested, and a list of years, one of which it will have been written in.