Published on April 29th, 2015 | by Brittany Deininger0
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.