You knew they were coming.

The poems.

If you know me well, you’re probably surprised that I’m not using this blog as a venue to push poetry onto unsuspecting readers. Well, that’s because I want to attract visitors, and frankly, the anti-poetry comments from (oh, you know who you are) might drive said visitors away.

That said, I’m taking a chance today and posting this, my favorite William Stafford poem, in honor of friends who’ve just had a baby. I love this poem – it makes me feel safe and warm and content, with thoughts of firelight and quilts.

I hope the beautiful new baby girl always experiences such joy.

At Our House
-William Stafford

Home late, one lamp turned low,
crumpled pillow on the couch,
wet dishes in the sink (late snack),
in every child's room the checked,
slow, sure breath--

Suddenly in this doorway where I stand
in this house I see this place again,
this time the night as quiet, the house
as well secured, all breath but mine borne
gently on the air--
And where I stand, no one.

No comments: