Grateful to have two houses,
I lurch among tilting attic boxes,
Holding a thousand puzzle pieces

In memory, trying to keep straight
Which mistress I am with now,
Always teetering on the edge
Of forgetting pieces missing
From myself. Our agonies
As we acquire drapes and furniture
Are not from being closet nomads
Or landless peasants at heart,
Not even secret hunter gatherers.
No, we come from a hunted culture,
And leaving is the easy part for us.
It is the arrival that cuts
Against ancestral grain.
At least we have enough houses now
To always be leaving one behind.
Death is our brash familiar friend
And birth a blushing stranger
Whom we don’t know how to
Make welcome in our home.