I'm Glad of What Keeps Me Afloat

There's a house, which is probably chaining me down
but there's also the fact: if it didn't, I might float away.
There's a garden, and there are a dozen loves
—some of whom I can even find right here 

in this world where I sink my hands in the soil.
I want to be loved, and I'm loved, and I'm looking
for the world where just loved is enough 
and it's probably this one. I don't want to die yet

but sometimes the reasons I'm here are the size of a seed. 
Seeds float, but they aren't going to give you
a whole lot of purchase at first; you have to water them.
And then you hope, and then you might wait a long time. 

In the meantime, maybe you just pick out 
a few new notes in a loved old song, a quick harmony.
And you pick up the phone or a pen or you do the dishes.
You act like you're somebody else's grown-up seed. 

Copyright Tara K. Shepersky, 2020

The title comes from a song by Johnny Flynn, sung with Laura Marling, called The Water—a lovely and haunting piece. The poem itself has the feeling of a song to me, or it did while I was writing it.

Here’s me reading it, along with a little wandering reflection. If you’d rather skip the chatty bit and just hear the poem, it’s at about 3:25:

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No, that beauty with the lime-colored door is not my house. I pass it on some of my longer city walks, and it always gives me a lift. My own home is…ever-so-slightly less photogenic from the street. The flowers are good, though.