I CAN’T BE THE ONE
to welcome you home, but when you arrive
tonight, the faithful trees keeping watch
in the yard curl their toes in pleasure, and all
the doors of the house throw their arms wide
to receive you, and all the curtains draw apart
to lighten the dark as you enter, and all
the chairs scrape back from the kitchen table,
bidding you to sit, and the stew ladles itself
into a bowl beside the candle that lit its own wick
for joy, and the crusty loaf breaks itself open,
to rest upon the wooden board for a dab
of butter, of jam, of honey, any sweetness you
might desire, and each empty bed turns down
its sheets and plumps up its pillows, hoping
to hold you in your sleep—while in one lonely
corner, hugging the wall, the patient piano
waits her turn, soft ache in her taut strings,
ready to play every loving song she’s learned
between the last time you left and this return.
for my son, Nathan
*
Phyllis Cole-Dai is a multi-genre writer in South Dakota, soon to relocate to Maryland. The author of more than a dozen books, she co-edited both volumes of the popular anthologies of mindfulness poems. Poetry of Presence. Learn more about her work at her website (phylliscoledai.com). Join The Raft, her online community, and ride the river of the creative life, buoyed by the arts and open spirituality (phylliscoledai.substack.com)