The Dark Indigo Current

Housewarming

In my dream I was the first to arrive

at the old home from church. Wind

and night had forced through the cracks.

I pushed inside, turned on lamps,

lit a fire in the stove. Frozen oak

logs stung my fingers; it was good

pain, my hands reddening on the icy

broom-handle as I swept away snow.

On Christmas eve, I prepared a warm

place for my mother and father, sister

and brothers, grandparents, all my relatives,

none dead, none missing, none angry

with another, all coming through the woods.