In a house formerly inhabited by
ten Buddhist nuns and forty Dachshunds
There now live two
wonderful women, their son, age
two and a half, a dog that never
barks, three black cats that I can’t tell apart to
save my life,
the lady who rents the
basement, with her
computer and exercise tapes,
and me, with my guitar and enough clothes for an army
Not to mention the numerous
friends, visitors, and the occasional cable guy
A full house to say the least,
But one with good, warm energy
That of a holiday gathering, every day of the week
A family reunion of perfect strangers
a family without the problem child, and the alcoholic
One with cat litter, dog hair, and love in every corner
If you’re feeling lonely
go upstairs and listen while she reads to him
If you need some inspiration, just sit and
observe the voices of the children coming from outside
Or the murmur of feet on the floor boards above
Take note of the rhythms of the house
the comings and the goings of each
tepid being within the walls of this
old abode
As I write these verses,
one fuzzy creature purrs beside me
Tail curled around my arm,
taping softly to the beat of some
internal musician
Our breathing becomes one and we synch, subtly
BAM!
The front door hammers open, and screams of joy
hit the ceiling
Flexibility, and grace, I must master these traits –
learning to love and adapt to constant change
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