In This House

In this house, we cut the whole onion.
In this house, we kiss the dog.

Plantains rest on the counter to ripen.
Softening flesh beneath blackening skin.
In this house we know its sweetness will yield to the pan its cooked in.

In this house, some things are broken.
In this house, some things are not.

Broken or whole, they clutter spaces.
Joining our battle with dust and hair.

In this house, there's a dustpan somewhere.
Tucked behind some unused chair.

In this house it's okay to cry.
Never a need to hold tears back.
Under our roof? Then you are family, a welcoming you'll never lack.

In this house it can be noisy.
We like our music turned up high.

Laughter rings out loud and goofy.
Happy tears will wet your eyes.

In this house we speak our thoughts out.
Voices rise and opinions blare.
In this house there can be shouting - voicing strongly hopes and fears.

In this house there's humble welcome.
Love rules here - above all.

In this house find gentle reprieve.
In this house no one is small.

Quiet listening and tender whispers, looks that still or that melt.
Hugs that envelop, bring you steady, creating safety when things are rough.

In this house it can get messy, but in this house we have enough.