Poem: “Neighbors”

New neighbors

building a house up on the hill …

She raises goats. He works at the pen.

From my back door

it’s thirty miles, as the crow flies,

over the mountains to the coast. It used to be

I could imagine

walking it – unimpeded. 

No fences. Nothing but deer trails and logging roads.

–

Now I’m surrounded by neighbors.

–

Which is better: seeking the recluse

in the mountains, and finding he’s not at home,

or helping the goat-lady

rig up a new wooden pedestal

for our mailboxes?

“Neighbors” from Rembrandt, Chainsaw. Copyright © 2008 by Clemens Starck. Reprinted by permission of the poet.