Dream House

 

Welcome to Your Dream House,
says the cardboard sign
with starbursts & exclamation points &
yin yang symbols
made with magic marker
by my sister who lives nearby.

Here, in this sweet little brick box,
we will kick off our shoes after work,  
sing along with Ella,
yell for the Phils,
survey our green pool table of a lawn
while we flip the portobello mushrooms
on the grill.

Here, we will accidentally
cut ourselves on knives, 
on broken glasses in the sink,
step on splinters, stub our toes.

From the darkened doorway
of the kitchen, tens and tens
of birthday cakes will emerge—
a parade of trembling flames
over the years.

And after all, how can we know the loss
that we're in for,
our dogs, our
fathers, Dave’s mom—even
our daughter will die while
we live here and
we do not see it any of it coming
from around the corner,

any more than the throat-catching joy,
or the births, or
Kokopelli and his ancient flute,
dancing behind us.

Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno / March - April  2016 Issue