City Repair. Public Art in private spaces. Little Library. I’m not sure what you would call it, but we completed our Posting Post this afternoon and it looks pretty fine.
For years, I’ve admired the City Repair Projects in Portland, where neighbors come together and paint the streets, or build a playhouse, or create art out of recycled objects; I’ve even modeled my Honors American Literature final around the idea. Art that you stumble upon while running errands, art that makes your day a bit brighter. But we didn’t have anything in our own yard, besides the front gardens, of course. And one of Anne Hart’s useful art pieces—a wok turned into a birdbath. Now we have a place to post poetry, or writing, announcements, photographs for people walking by to find.
Vagabonds, hobos, they trundle in
through a crack in the wall by the back door
and congregate under the washing machine
to drink soapy drainwater.
I'm not running a bug hotel. My home
is no flophouse for backyard dropouts.
But these folks are easy company.
They aren't evangelists
reveling all night in confessional raptures
or teenage sons of bankers
cranking stereos and snorting coke.
They aren't revolutionaries or reactionaries,
atheists, pagans or co-dependents.
They're just little bugs
who've seen the world some
and like to swap stories around the floor drain.