Una Casa, a poem by Brittany Deininger
Even termites can raise a cathedral
mound. The bowerbird, for instance, builds
an avenue of twigs and throws in the seductive
shades of blue. A paper wasp spits a wild nest.
Now, ahora, my feet come home
to the ground beneath me. I gather the mud
and stone, belonging to this place. The door
opens to me on hinges of yes.
Now, I sit at the table as host. My hand
pours the water glass full.
From my bed I can hear the night song
of roots growing down to sleep in the clay.
Now, I paint the old language of
dreams in wild colors on the window
frames, the front door,
across any face who enters here.
Now, I go from neighbor to neighbor
laughing and drinking like the wine-
throated hummingbird, my face pressed
to the flowered cup.
Now, I am placed
like this spoon that stirs the soup,
kisses salty lips, is washed
and returned to the order of things.
Now, ahora, I burrow, I peck, I forage,
spit and spin, hammer and weave.
I join the ritual dance of place-
making in the kingdom of every living thing.
Featured illustration “The Bowerbird” by artist Courtney Brims.
About the Author
Brittany Deininger is a poet living in Tacoma, Washington. Her poetry has been featured in anthologies and blogs including Krista Tippett’s On Being and In Tahoma’s Shadow. Her poem, Una Casa, was written as an incantation of the present moment of building and coming home and debuted at the Jimmy Vivino Blues Vespers Benefit Concert in Tacoma to fund a Habitat for Humanity build in Guatemala. She currently lives and writes in the Puget Sound region.
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