THE LITTLE HOUSE ON ETHEL STREET

 

This is the house
that wrapped its arms around us
when we had lost everything in the fire.
Gone, all the blankets and dishes
gone, all the kids’ toys and books,
gone my dreams of making my livelihood
by the sea – gone up in smoke
with the arsonist’s match, a suspicious fire
so no insurance money with which
to start again.

But in this house, we gathered
what we could, and what we were given,
and settled into being home.

In this house, I learned to garden,
every morning starting with birdsong
and the shush-shush-shush
of the sprinkler revolving in the yard.

In this house, my children grew
as tall and leggy as the sunflowers out back,
and finally had a home, and books
and possessions again. In this house
my heart healed, and my voice
stilled by shock and pain and betrayal
returned and I began, once more, to sing.

It was from this house that had healed me
that my spirit gathered itself
for a mighty leap, and
took wing.

It was from this house that the dream of Tofino began, that called me over the mountains to the sea.