poem for title agents

Title Agent Poem

“What’s In a Title, Anyway?”

She asked me, wrangling her toddler back
from the 13th century art display.
“Isn’t it just a piece of paper to track
who owns the home?”

And I had to bite my tongue.

The museum had free monster —
I mean, youngster — Sundays, so I’d come
to talk about next steps for her dream
house with the vintage crown moulding.

What is in a title?

Well, weren’t the paintings hung all around us
just brush strokes on a canvas?
Wasn’t the Grecian vase called “Lilly”
just an old thing to place flowers in?

What’s in a title?
It’s the history, it’s the years,
it’s who owned it from the first,
and who inherited its fears.

It’s who has lien rights from unpaid fees,
it’s secrets in the family tree,
it’s the record of who loves the porch,
it’s the evidence of heartbreak from divorce.

It documents the joy when couples start off,
it shows the grief when a loved one is lost.
A title is transferred when ownership changes,
it records the lives, the laughs, the faces.

But the young homebuyer struggled with her son,
and chaos from closing costs lined her forehead,
so I just nodded. “Essentially, that’s it.
Title just proves your ownership.”