Our House Poem by Jenny Kalahar

Engraved by fingertips
Grooved, worn and softened at the corners.
Banisters stand guard,
everything golden warm from friction.
Shoes and socks and feet
walking life-polished boards, or
standing at the door
at windows.
Countless eyes have seen these walls
papered in brown tones and faded flowers.
Patchwork quilts on every bed or footboard
wait for the family to warm.
Chairs lived in more than sat upon
with companionable dogs
with book in hand, with cup.
Handwoven rugs
Handmade curtains
Handmade throws upon a sofa
its green velvet crushed in human shapes.
Everything lived-in
touched, used
like an elder's body
or a wooden chest with many hearts.
A quiet, loud, safe haven
with beds to sleep upon
tables to eat from
walls to take embraces from
when days are done
when nights are come.
When pinprick stars pierce through the bedroom windows
giving a piece of the universe to seamless dreams
this will always be
and will always stay
Our house