This is a poem Kerry wrote inspired by my "situation"

Airstream

3 polaroids,
a compass with its crystal cracked
and a lady hawk’s wing
hang above the front window
of her not-quite antique Airstream--
her metal mobile
in the scoop of the land.
Also within:
tea leaves and lace doilies,
some horse’s hair,
a turtle shell,
dried lavender,
black grapes and an onion,
lemon zest,
fresh cow’s milk and of course
the moonshine her neighbor
left her for the favor
of a late-night pick-up tow.

Silk flowers line a trail that
bends backwards through
the darkness of the trees
to the twin-seated outhouse
whose walls boast
a portrait of some slick sailor
and a Blessed Virgin print.

Behind the jake
and beyond the creek,
beyond the temporary electric pole,
beyond the collection of dog bowls,
and the tangle of the honeysuckle
there looms a farmhouse,
once bright and tabasco,
now stripped and sallow,
filled with rocks and old remnants:
burlap sacks,
old socks and a child’s saddle,
some coca-cola cans,
a pitchfork, shovel and rake,
three rubber boots
and a sand-pile.

This, her home,
here and there,
down the path,
through the trees,
across the hollow –
seems all bound together
with metal, moss, and mud.

By Kerry Ferguson