A short poem for a big day

How to go home, for real

Hello all,

Today, I’m collecting the keys to a home of my very own.

Since 2010, I’ve passed through something like two dozen temporary homes on three continents.

But soon, all my books will be in one place, for the first time in 13 years.

I can’t tell you how excited I am, or how grateful. (Or how up to my eyeballs in boxes and paperwork.)

Instead of a letter, here’s a poem that sums up what’s happening in my chest right now.

Earth Dweller

It was all the clods at once become
precious; it was the barn, and the shed,
and the windmill, my hands, the crack
Arlie made in the ax handle: oh, let me stay
here humbly, forgotten, to rejoice in it all;
let the sun casually rise and set.
If I have not found the right place,
teach me; for, somewhere inside, the clods are
vaulted mansions, lines through the barn sing
for the saints forever, the shed and windmill
rear so glorious the sun shudders like a gong.

Now I know why people worship, carry around
magic emblems, wake up talking dreams
they teach to their children: the world speaks.
The world speaks everything to us.
It is our only friend.

—William Stafford

Love,

xx Ellie