we called it the Nunnery.
8 months
4 women
under one roof—
counting the dog.
we healed in that house.
cutting palm leaves
in nightgowns
and laughter
on a ladder.
“don’t fall with the saw
in hand.”
whipped cream
in our coffee
and kimonos
on our backs
sound bathes
in the grass
and prayers
at the table
late enchiladas
that tasted like love.
that fire—
I tried to put it out
with a pot of water
but Nance found the hose.
we stared
as steam came up
out of that little bird house.
“I better call your mother.”
then
we burned letters
old bills
documents from the IRS
in the chiminea
and that godforsaken drawing
of women with claws.
and the cats watching
from a corner of sun.
fat animals
hopping around
the backyard
and sometimes
we need only
to sit with the trees
and let the healing come.
furry pieces of god
at our sides.
how we’ve all grown
I twirled for you
in my new dress
two mothers
watching me become.
a little girl
a grown up girl
and a boy
all at once.
and no one
needed to understand
and we all understood
and a house to hold us
where mom clicked
20 years clean.
God’s grace,
When you’ve seen it, huh?
animals came
and went
and came again
like my youth
always a part of me.
a home.
