“A Beautiful House with a Hot Tub and Pool” by Jason Schneiderman

͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌     ͏ ‌    ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­ ­
 ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏ ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏ ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏ ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏ ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏ ͏  ͏  ͏  ͏

March 6, 2025

I miss my magnolias, miss my maples, think
where did they go, think, oh yes, to the past,
that place where everything goes and can I visit?
No, but also yes. And can I stay away? Also yes,
but also no. And in the same way that languages
only get simpler, people only get sadder. Yesterday
at the dentist I thought Thank god for nitrous oxide
and I thought Thank god for Dr. Rachel drilling away
in my tooth but wanting nothing she does to hurt me.

I wish that were true all the time. That we all wanted
nothing we did to hurt anyone at all. My friend

with a beautiful house insists that we call his pet
a companion animal, which I don’t think changes
very much, but I want nothing that I do to hurt him,
so I call his dog a companion animal, and then
I think Is that what my trees were? Not really
my trees, but companion trees, offering me
their flowers and then their leaves, offering me
their oxygen in exchange for my carbon dioxide,
not exactly grateful for my copious applications
of neem oil to kill the parasites invading their branches
but flourishing in the absence of those pests, the flowers
and leaves all I really wanted in return. I miss
my companion trees, my flowering Jane,
my flowering Brown Beauty, my flowering Star,
my leafy red maples, scarlet and feathery
all summer. My friend’s companion animal is licking
my face and my friend asks Could you be content

anywhere? And I say Yes, I can be content anywhere,

but then I think Is that true? Of course it’s easy to be content
at my handsome friend’s beautiful house, by his
heated pool, in what might be a physical manifestation
of contentment if ever there was one. So I think it again
on the subway, think it again writing emails, think it again,
but alas sadly: No. It’s not true. I can’t be content here

in my uncomfortable present, in my uncomfortable chair,

on the uncomfortable subway, at this uncomfortable desk,

in this uncomfortable classroom. But oddly, I am content

to visit the past, to say Hello everything I’ve lost,

to say I wish you could come here to the present,

my lost companion trees. I wish you could meet

everything I’ve found.

Copyright © 2025 by Jason Schneiderman. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 6, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.

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about this poem


“I was thinking about some trees I had loved and how they were no longer in my life, and then a friend suggested I write about contentment. Making peace with the past has been a common theme in my work, so I decided to try to write about making peace with the present. Which may be the same thing. Or maybe not.”
—Jason Schneiderman

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Thanks to Kim Addonizio, author of Exit Opera (W. W. Norton, 2024), who curated Poem-a-Day for this month’s weekdays. Read or listen to a Q&A about Addonizio’s curatorial approach and find out more about our Guest Editors for the year.

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“Ghazal: Sea” by Moira Egan

Wednesday, March 5, 2025

As Karen Blixen said, the cure's the sea ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌

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I was five, / lying facedown on my bed ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏

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of that old feeling of being / in love, such a rusty / feeling, ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏ ‌ ͏

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