A Housewife, Walking—Kate Gaston

"Is it a gift or an evil to have seen you so clearly?"

For more articles, videos, books, and resources about faith and art, visit RabbitRoom.com.

An Alabama native, Kate was homeschooled before it was even remotely considered normal. She completed her undergraduate degree at Bryan College and went on to graduate school at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. For eight years, Kate worked as a PA in a trauma and burn ICU before ping-ponging across the nation for her husband’s medical training. She and her family are currently putting down roots in Nashville, Tennessee. Today, Kate enjoys homeschooling her daughter and tutoring in her local classical homeschool community. She also finds deep satisfaction in long, meandering conversations at coffee shops, oil painting, writing, and gazing pensively into the middle distance. You can read more of her work at her Substack: That Middle Distance.

A Housewife, Walking

The storm finishes, hurling its fury further east.

I think of my rain barrels, almost full;
I think of my crawl space, its gravel floor surely damp;
I think of you, knowing full well I have no right to think of you at all.

But there you are, along with rain barrels, crawl spaces, and what to thaw for dinner. 

I slip on my shoes and take a long walk on puddled sidewalks. 
I walk, and wonder if you’ll drive past. 
And if you do, I wonder if you’d stop to talk to me.

Observing the urgent way you pushed your hand through your hair,
I grasped at once the darkness you grapple with.
Is it a gift or an evil to have seen you so clearly?

What would happen if we allowed ourselves to sit together,
Talking until the words ran out?
Could we then part amicably, friends, our cups full?

Or would we be pulled under, 
drowned in the riptide,
eviscerated on the hidden shoals?

If I told you these thoughts, would you think it’s courage or folly?
Could we even tell the difference?

I ponder all this as I walk, 
hands shoved deep in my pockets, 
crepe myrtle trees dripping on my head as I pass underneath.

Returning, I let myself in the back gate and decide:
chicken, I’ll thaw chicken for dinner. 

---

Photo by Valentin Müller on Unsplash