The Lath House
By Frank Osen
Wood strips, cross-purposed into lattice, made
this nursery of interstices—a place
that softened, then admitted, sun with shade,
baffled the wind and rain, broke open space.
It’s now more skeletal, a ghostly room
the garden seemed to grow, in disrepair,
long empty and well past its final bloom.
Less lumbered, though, it cultivates the air
by shedding cedar slats for open sky.
As if, designed to never seem quite finished,
it had a choice to seal and stultify
or take its weather straight and undiminished,
grow larger but be less precisely here,
break with its elements, and disappear.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright © 2013 by Frank Osen, from his most recent book of poems, Virtue, Big as Sin, Able Muse Press, 2013. Poem reprinted by permission of Frank Osen and the publisher.