Ours

Ours

by Jonathan Galassi

This house these walls were ours

and everything inside them the

lawns the trees the flower beds

the stone walls not the fern

walk that is Alison's but it's the

way the first light filters

through the thinned-out branch-

es part of us the ancient

apple orchard the hydrangeas

yellowed lily leaves the old

barn the new studio that you and

Chris created for me and the ice-

house and the light is ours the

angled brilliance and the funk of

fall the weather's turned the
snow the stairs the stars out on

the lawn the cold coyotes' calls

are ours the view from the mar-

tini bench the copper beech the

thyme terrace and the new one

and the girls are ours the young

shad and the lilacs and our

square bed and the birch room

and the teahouse sunset apple

smoke the flame azaleas that

didn't take the peonies the si-

lences and evening unraveling

the immense white pine and fuel

oil smell were ours these rooms

are ours the pictures sofas car-

pets my grandmother's bud vase

the coin silver spoons and Eloise

is ours and Pheobe was this room

is ours the square bed and the

threshing here was ours the si-

lences the Paris bedspread and

the dressers and my red desk in

the alcove and your bathroom tub

the inky tentacles e-mail was ours

and phone calls and what makes

you think you're you was always

ours

           pretend you're with me as

you read this all the empty

hours were ours the rattling down

the hall the perfect view across

the road the hills the walls the

white fence fallen branches bit-

tersweet the stairs the girls are

ours the love the friends the

silences your voice your eyes your

hair your neck the beauty all are

ours the empty mornings and the

silences were ours the staring at

the fire before it died the grappa

and the whiskey in etched glasses

and the bellows the black marble

fireplace and Chris's gavel Mol-

lie's picture Christopher's two

drawings dinner by the fire was

ours the sausages the peppermint

foot rub your cowhide slipeprs

endless books too many you kept

saying in the halfway house hu-

midity and hummingbirds all ours

all ours the afternoons the misty

mornings looking up the lawn the

copper beech the peegees turning

purple Haystack and the deep

sleeps the Bald mountain treks

the fern walk and the two chairs

by the stream we never sat in

and the little living room and

Libby's paths the Alfords' rugs the

girls my parents' nesting tables

Pete Street's hidden staircase

all the evenings the talk the

laughter all the music all the

friends the silences the girls and

everything that was and wasn't

ours

           and hours were ours the

walks the silent drives the si-

lences unspoken love the lacks

the guilt the missing the alone-

ness what we couldn't do the

what we didn't say the things I

couldn't do the one I couldn't

be and wanted to and didn't is

ours too and rage is ours and

loss and hours alone are our

the silences the hall the girls

and the unknown was ours the fu-

ture that we couldn't share the

fear the falling leaves and fail-

ing ruining the fault lines and

the love lines and incomprehen-

sion and the need to know and to

be known and broken faith deri-

sion denigration power was ours

and powerlessness and struggle

and my twisted heart that got un-

twisted and your face your voice

your neck your back the tears

the girls the life I left the lost

life all of it was ours is ours

was ours is ours was

From Jonathan  Galassi, Left-handed: Poems (2012).