Good Enough For Now Bones

I want good bones,
     the strength of which to
     make the sense of
     security permanent.
Come quake, fire or flood,
     I still want the promise
     of good bones... 
     and be they mine.
Not rented, not wondering
     when a 30-day notice 
     may come.
Not feeling thwarted to
     move bones or any other
     parts or pieces exactly
     where I want them.

Interior design was my thing.
     I had an eye for beauty.
     form, and maybe even style.
I played that out for a while...
     commercial, not residential.
Drafting, copying blueprints 
     and picking finishes - unembellished. 
Not nearly as glamorous as
     I envisioned, but it was a start.

But Motherhood was the true dream
     and my own good bones and flesh
     supported the creation
     of more bones... 
     little humans displaying the likes
     of me and my husband.
His good bones - every one of them - 
     hammered, dug dirt, replaced
     sheetrock and efforted all the
     demanding tasks of building
     and repairing the substantial
     good bones of others.
Along with Motherhood, I longed 
     for homestead... wholly ours.

Twelve years - it's been exactly
     twelve years since we landed here.
A saving place from the foreclosure
     of my mom's good bones that
     held us, somewhat securely, for 
     those strenuous years.
Six people and a band of pets
     cozied into 1000 sf of
     good enough for now bones.
I am grateful for the land - 
     acres of play space and trees
     to comfort the weary soul.

No, I've never believed the bones
     of this home were good - and
     I've repeatedly bitched about
     cold drafts, low ceilings, missing
     baseboards and flimsy walls.
But I must admit they have been
     good enough for now.
They've witnessed children's cries,
     victories, arguments, heartfelt
     apologies and the most intimate
     of life's undulations.

It was here, in these good enough 
     for now bones, that my husband
     and my mom took their last breaths.
Here that we washed their bodies
     with warm water and love.
Here that grief has been honored.

Admittedly, I still complain about
     its shortcomings, and long for 
     owning my own and what I
     imagine to be truly solid
     good bones... often.
And in my contented grief
     I can surrender to the
     comfort, memories, and 
     transformations these 
     good enough for now bones
     have unwaveringly pillared.



     

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