New Home

When the terribleness of change

Comes sweeping in (again),

Throwing your cluttered, yet

Perfectly comfortable home in

Disarray and perceived maligned

Places and confusion…

The nook you so loved to read in

Gets filled by an ocean from the

Open door you optimistically left,

Praying for benevolence…

And somehow

Your mother is no longer here,

And your milkman has been

Replaced by an unknown quantity,

An unruly teenager

Who wheedles for tips.

The people who talk of

Important human ongoings

Say that you’re due and overdue,

And must pay rent

Repent

And repeat.

You’ve still the sheen of courage

To say to this all:

“Okay.”

And mean it.

* * *

So you move to another home

By the mountains, yet close enough

To the ocean — you have bigger

Windows to invite change,

And still a door at least

Cracked to allow grace

To seep through,

Abide on the cushioned windowsill

You call ‘resting space,’

You polish that glam and shimmer

Of indelible acceptance…

It continues to grow.

You make no assumption of security

In this new home of yours,

With furnishings from abroad

And quiet, benevolent stars overhead.

You play the game of truth or consequence

To test you again and again…

Until your home is where you are.

Your ‘resting space’ is the now moment,

And your collection of experience,

Perhaps wisdom amassed, may serve as

Imported china for whomever next to

Witness your passage.

Be they stellar, or otherwise.