It was the house of my husband
once, but women gathered together
to make a plan. We would reclaim
the land through our loving.
Paula provided pink roses, said
they were hard like a marriage,
took work. Angela planted 
crepe myrtle in front of the
bedroom, said to learn to keep
some things in the dark.
My mother-in-law cut back
briars around the foundation, 
said get rid of what has hurt you,
this is a place to be safe.
We put in the rose of Sharon
for Laura, who was seven.
Now she is grown and the bush
is a tree as big as the house.
My husband laid sod and cut
trees–you know how men are–
they need space for their balls.
But then he gave me a rocking 
bench big enough for the whole
family to sit on and see leaves fall.
We put in another rose of Sharon,
this time lavender, when my daughter
was born. Later my mother gave me
Saint Francis holding a bird,
round and shorn. They have planted
their gardens, too, the birds:
yellow evening primrose,
sunflower, chokecherry tree,
morning glories and millet and beans.
I loved this landscape
into being, and when I die,
I will return here in dreams.
Yes, I received help, and yes,
I could not have done it alone.
But never underestimate
the power of a woman who decides
to claim the earth as her own.