learning home

the crab apples sit unpeeled on a counter top, new and we sit

silent

at the table which shines of 10 coats of varnish and sanding, refinished

in a room whose corners tell whispers of residents past, whose creaks and crannies are strange ghosts, whose light slants in uncertain hues

and outside a woman runs past and i know she must be a neighbor but her address and face are unfamiliar and we cling close

in this house that seems too large for us three

and we pray holy spirit into walls and carpet and hardwood and goodwill toys and kijiji furniture

and we learn home, with its cracks and its dust of yester-year and its stories
and we learn him, who cements a home, holy


















who promises in the night as i toss on pillow wet, he will make friendly the strange
he will use us in this small dutch town of residents, kind




and i think of the co-op where no money's needed, a bill formed in trust,

of the church where hundreds commune sunday-come, farmers weather-burnt and wives with blond-shine hair and so many children

of the school where husband now teaches, his childhood playground,

all on the four corners 'pon which town curls





i think of the fields of wheat and barley and canola and the way the albertan sky seems to host heaven

and i want this to feel familiar

so i let him make it God-tabernacle

where we humble, visit

















linking up also, with one shot wednesday.