Epistemology – Vandal Poem of the Day

Here is an icehouse that no longer houses ice.

Here is an alfalfa meadow in need of mowing.

Here is the barn where a sauced and saucy welder

has left behind his anvil. It was never his barn.

Here is a clearing in the woods that didn’t exist

until December’s ice storm. It was once a grove

of maiden ferns and hardwood trees. A kind man

cleared the roots and trunks, then kindly retreated.

I have stood in this clearing and cannot decide

if I miss the trees or if I love newborn clarity.

How can I love a damaged place? But I love

rooms and cities I’ll never return to, and once

I loved a man for how he damaged me. Here

is the footbridge unbridged by that storm. Here

is the fire pond the walker could not find: he did not

know my route. Here is the water. Where is the fire?