Oasis

Ours is a neighborhood of little boxes
a Bradford Pear in each front yard.
Five or six different house designs,
alike enough that more than once
I have turned into the wrong driveway.

Yet our ticky tacky box has been transformed
by the soul and hands of a woman:
Her vision created an oasis in the suburban desert,
The mundane swept away by verdure.

In front, ground covers overrun the crushing symmetry
of concrete sidewalk; layers of green and flowers
taxing the checker board norm.
To enter the house one must brush aside Oleander;
staid front porch has become a home to Mourning Doves.

Inside, gentle yellow scrubbed away the industrial grey/white.
Rugs of brick red and blue and green cover the tan.
Plants tumble over the ledge above kitchen cabinets,
bookshelves and counters; each corner and nook an invitation
to sit and read, listen and feel. Catnip sits by the back door.

In back is her true heart; veggies and herbs layer and flow
with flowers and trees. Greens, tans, reds and flecks
of bright rock rose bask. Birds, cats, dog and I revel
in the rustle of pampas grass, the tap of oleander on glass,
the smell of tomatoes, peppers and basil warmed by morning sun.

In the Texas summer, you can smell and feel
water in the birdbath, moisture from the maples;
watch greens ripple across wind tossed foliage.

She is my partner, but even if my view is biased,
the critters aren’t wrong.
These beasts are drawn here as I am
by sensations of peace, created from love.