Snow*Vigate
Issue 2 : Winter, 2007

Planting Your Home, a Guide to Growing a House

Jon Bonomo

The moss depressed the flowerpots, left them cracked and out of control. The birds found seeds in the cat’s fur and ate till their bellies were delight. Out on that long stretch of road till Neet bride we counted the seconds we could drive with our eyes closed. The cats followed us, found them listening to the secrets only the politicians know. The bathrooms were backed up in the courthouse. This was breaking news in Rockville, Indiana. You found yourself constipated with no place to go. No one to follow home to find another life to live in, another way to call yourself from home. You were stuck in weather. The pluming was fucked to begin with. You never liked it here until you heard the voice of God telling you to pack your things, you not leaving but only changing.

You were stuck no matter what calendar you looked at, the same days fell on the same episodes and you began to use the TV Guide as a pocket watch.

But the girl with Coca Cola skin followed you. The birds had pecked at you until your skin hung like a wet napkin. On the porch you spat in the rusty bird’s eye and it looked like the weeping Madonna. To you, everything was something else. Where was its child? Where were you going to finally put your shoes to dry the mud and brush it away?

Are we ever going to get out of the places that haunt us the most and believe me, if you lived here, you’d be home by now.

Jon Bonomo is a catholic poet who wears a stocking cap. He claims watching the Food Network is the best kind of therapy.