My Home

My home! How I do love you

and, loving so, in knowledge seek to name

and place each room.

My kitchen is the east, the heart,

first of every morning cold, and first to be warm,

to give true nourishment and repair all harm.

The south is my treasure-trove, my mind,

the room of greatest changing shape

where everything is stored from which I make

all hidden things my own.

The west room—the living warmth that holds

the companionable society of my youth and age,

that has sheltered friends and given host

to multitudes. This room the west,

is the spirit of the place.

Now to the north. Do you fear it cold?

Do not—for this room knows the stars

and all their meanings, is thoughtful

before sun first marks day upon the door.

This is the desk that cupboards the histories,

and here the bed that proves the promise holds.

Here is the secret place we begin our lives

in grace, and here in loving embrace we shall end,

and truly, in all good time, begin again.

Rebecca Goodrich(a close Friend)

[1974, San Pedro]