Veronica Kornberg

IMPROVIDENT

That dream, a small cottagewith windows facing the Pacific and—wait for it—priced within reason.Of coursethere were none.So for twenty-five years we simply drovethe twisty mountain routethrough a green welter of redwoodsto bottom out along the coastamong scattershot barnsand rusty propane tanks, happyto end up at the state beach,shield our ham and cheesefrom sand-laced wind.Eventually our fruitless quest was moreidle banter than actual searchthough we still nosedinto abandoned shacksand tire track lanes dead-endingin junk heaps. What more could we want?One foggy day we spieda peeled and faded sign set backamong overgrown cypress,a footpath through a dense thicketof dead pines that led to a cliff,and perched on its crumbling edge—a tiny house, crusted with orange lichen,brown algae and termite wings, the redwoodwater tank staves bowed and bleeding water.Within weeks our 401(k) was gutted,we were out chopping dead treesand fiddling with a pump bladder,fielding chiropractors, pricingused tractors. We chimed the namesof everything around us—wrack line, blackberry, wentletrap,wooly sea daisy and gumboot chiton.We took it all on faith, as is.Below us, the violent seabroke its beautiful teeth on the rocks.—from Rattle #79, Spring 2023

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Veronica Kornberg: “Perhaps this poem reflects my inner Flopsy Bunny, about whom Beatrix Potter said, ‘They had a large family, and they were very improvident and cheerful.’” (web)

Related* “The Poe Cottage, 1992” by Katherine Barrett Swett * “Vermont” by Marc Elihu Hofstadter * “Separation” by Michael Dylan Welch