Home

I like to be
the first one home
in the afternoon,
to find the house
silently waiting.

The books rest on the shelf,
leaning gently to the left.
The table holds the candlestick
benevolently in its palm,
the chairs drawn up close,
in quiet concern.

The kitchen cabinets hold their goods,
never questioning their weighty purpose.
The refrigerator rumbles now and again
to care for its fragile contents.

The bed yawns sleepily in its room,
the dresser and mirror,
its dusty companions.

The afternoon sun
streams in, glowing warmth,
and the sounds outside the window,
the wind and train and passing cars,
sing a comforting lullaby.

I sit for a while,
letting go of my day
and absorbing theirs.
I honor their silences,
they welcome my presence.
We wait together
for the first hints of evening.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith