I live in a container house.

A poem inspired by Jesse K. Butler's "Core Sample"

I live in a container house. 
I often feel like some small mouse
Who’s made himself a little nest 
From our discarded detritus. 
(I often find these when I clean,
And always feel a little mean
To reclaim what I haven’t seen
Or cared about for months on end,
And wish instead to find a friend
As Burns did—or at least he tried—
But mice do not belong inside.)

The trees about my house, outside,
Have roots not deep, but long and wide,
For we’re on an alluvial fan,
Our roots in what the hills began
To raise up from the depths below
But then, snapped off with ice and snow,
Slid down, discarded detritus
In which we’ve made our little nest.

Now, with the trees, I sail the tide
Of time, discarded dust the waves,
The tree roots anchoring down the slide 
Of all the mighty fallen rocks
Cast down in thunderous, crashing shocks,
Or simply sliding, spreading out
Until the trees grew all about
And caught and stopped them in their net
Of roots, until the slope was set.
And at the foot of this great fan 
I float in my own small sea-can.

Inspired by Jesse Keith Butler’s “Core Sample”.