You are more wanted in this world than anything since or after

Remembering when home was a place we longed to spend more time in and feeling grateful for having shelter during such a terrible time as I read this Lilah Hegnauer poem.

Inside the home of dear friends, 2017. 

“Flour Sack”

We love the eve of holy days at home. We lose our mittens,
our heavy boots, toss our briefcases, unlace our braids,

and we, who were only ever employed tenuously to begin with,
throw off the mantle of this recession. We drink gin and we sing.

And you, young, blond curls limp in the heat, take karaoke requests
and queue them up and we all pretend, for a holy

day or two, that we have it all: enameled tubs, spoke and spoon
and spittle of all we won’t actually say. You are more wanted

in this world than anything since or after. You are wanted like
a hasp wants its pin, like a comma wants another clause. Give it.

from Pantry 

There’s no more north and south.


“Our Houses”

by Linda Hogan (1947-)

When we enter the unknown
of our houses,
go inside the given up dark
and sheltering walls alone
and turn out the lamps
we fall bone to bone in bed.

Neighbors, the old woman who knows you
turns over in me
and I wake up
another country. There’s no more
north and south.
Asleep, we pass through one another,
like blowing snow,
all of us,

from Seeing through the Sun