Orphaned Slab
by Odin Roark

They call me a foundation,
once supporting siding and stone,
wire,
plumbing,
shingles.

Through the doors of my house
trailed family and friends,
across kitchen floor
slanted slightly,
letting Benny’s agate marbles
migrate to the corner.

Atop my shoulders,
a house of character once stood,
usual middle class floor plan,
even allowing spidery webs,
their solace in pantry corners,
squirrels their roof,
foraging to cottonwood trees
shading the three second-story bedrooms
kept perfect for home visits
from children away at college.

Downstairs,
Everett’s TV room rocker,
always moving back and forth,
massaged my back,
well…
it was a mild massage through the flooring.
Mostly my imagination,
coming as it did
through layered rugs and cat hair.

Yeah…

Used to hear mother’s complaints;
“That old vacuum is useless. We need a Kirby, d*mn it.”
He’d usually stop his rocking for a second or two,
then let her know, “Just lean in more. All it needs.”
And back to his rocking. “Kirby. Out of her mind.”

But…

Come spring break,
Sara’s boombox
was rocking of another kind.
No imagination needed there.
Reminded me how secure
this old foundation was
until the afternoon when…

Felt like a distant train,
but the clackety-clack of rail cars
was out of sync,
out of control.

Wind moved in,
then rain,
then wind and rain,
then that God-awful train again,
had to be from Hell,
or someplace worse,
thundering through…

It was a long night.

Been a long couple of weeks.

Weeds and spider webs now connect
through cracks in my body.

A squirrel or two survived,
peeking about once in a while,
still clinging to their downed cottonwood,
wishing the foraging path was still there,
wishing there was something to forage.

Me?

Well, I’m just a surviving cement foundation
awaiting tomorrow’s sunrise,
hoping for just the right temperature,
early in the morning,
before the sun adds its bleaching effect
and I start to remember again.

Perhaps I’ll have earned
some afternoon showers,
some nourishment for the weeds comin’ through the cracks,
some droplet sparkles for my spidery friend’s web,
and who knows…

We’re regretful of so much loss,
the other slabs and me,
but a foundation is a foundation,
that’s what we’re built for.
The start-ups.
The start-overs.

Orphan today,
adopted tomorrow.

So goes the life of a slab.
A life some might say
is a thankless existence.

Not so.