Belonging

I belong waking up before the sun,

Sipping coffee, writing down morning thoughts,

Stretching while listening to quiet music.

I belong hiking outside to eat breakfast

On the hill, basking in the sunrise.

I belong walking through my own forest

As the sun climbs into the sky,

Warm, golden, dappled light

Filtering through the leaves and dancing on my face.

Listening to the birds chirping,

And pecking at the seeds I put out.

Watching the family of deer

That I’ve looked out for all year.

Glimpsing the foxes and badgers

That I feed and photograph.

Picking up flowers to put in vases,

Leaves to press, berries to eat.

Stopping often to write a poem,

Describe a moment, awe the earth.

I belong frolicking through sweetgrass and buttercups,

With bees and butterflies and fairies

In my field, cows and goats watching me.

I belong making flower crowns, one for me,

And one for each animal on my farm.

I’ll laugh and try to fit us all into a selfie.

I belong hiking through an overflowing garden,

Picking flowers and fruits,

And carrying them home in my basket

In a graphic t-shirt and hand-sewn skirt

With pockets big enough for a baguette,

Or high waisted jeans and a flannel,

Or a dress from the 1940s,

And a renaissance fair utility belt.

I belong in a house with herbs

And flowers and copper pots

Hanging from the rafters,

With vintage furniture,

Art on the walls,

Books on the shelves,

Plants on the sills.

I belong writing novels in a cozy office

Creating words and worlds with only

Twenty-six letters and a handful of symbols.

I belong walking into town for lunch,

At the same time, ordering the same thing,

Just to make people wonder.

Everyone knows me,

And everyone thinks I’m a Witch.

I belong signing songs while cooking dinner for one,

From ingredients I grow in the garden

Or buy from the market.

Over the years, it expands to

Dinner for two, for three, for five.

And as my children get old enough

To go to school and sports,

The people still think I’m a witch,

But what a nice witch I must be

To raise daughters of the sun and sons of the moon.

I belong laughing with my kids

And playing board games after dinner.

I belong with a family, curled in bed,

Reading books aloud until they fall asleep,

Then reading my own book until I do, too,

My head resting on my husband’s shoulder,

His arm wrapped around me,

A dog or two and a cat or three

Sleeping between our legs.

I belong somewhere where I can love

Like the sun loves the summer

And the stars love the night.

I belong driving down to the shore on weekends,

Walking, running, flying through the sand,

Splashing in the water,

Lying in the summer sun,

Or wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate

To protect against the fall winds.

I belong where a fondue sits on the table for hours on New Year’s Eve

As we eat and talk and wait for the ball to drop.

I belong where Polish food is served for Easter,

And barbecue for the first of July.

I belong laughing with friends,

Spending hours at the long table

Under the trees and the sun,

Celebrating the harvest

And giving thanks.

I belong under a Christmas tree,

Next to the flickering fire

Where hand-knitted stockings hang,

Full of presents,

After the kids have gone to sleep on Christmas Eve,

Holding hands with my husband, smiling.

Grateful

To belong to the sun and moon,

To heaven on earth,

To love and laughter,

To home.