you forgot-or didn’t know-that I knew stories of that land

the timbered barn built by hand and burned in vengeance

the two streams that provided water and their springs

the reasons for the midden heap and the small house that overlooked it

I walked the boundaries every year

over rocky embankments between barbed wire fencing

learned about what had grown and what had not

what might be a good idea if the weather held

I sat in rooms warmed only by a stone hearth’s fire

and shared hot coffee and stories with people

whose names I do not remember

but whose gnarled hands I still see quite clear

I loved all of this pure and simple

felt it settle upon me like an obligation

care but do not own, land cannot be owned

for a time we lived in the same place

yet inhabited different homes

I saw walls hung rich with art

ate meals from hand-thrown plates

slept on a bed built with love

you didn’t notice paintings at all

thought pottery worthless bits of clay

had no care for handmade things

saddened I see this still in you

though you place no value in what I think

you have turned the world into your mirror

all you see is your glittering self

even my love could not pull your gaze