I am content
in this house –
where four babies crossed the threshold.
And while one forever holds space in my soul, the other vibrant three grew into glorious humans
who filled the rooms and my heart with life.

I no longer need sight or touch to know the doorways, stair steps and corners that are so familiar.
The entire place is
an old friend to me;
just as the light on every wall
is known at all times of the clock,
and the creaking floorboards
are like the lines in my palms: worn, repetitive, unchanging and dependably
always there.

This house has been both sturdy backbone and fragile nest through
winters of drafty doorjams
and blasting summer heat rippling
across its single-pane windows….

It has remained whole through broken promises and abandoned hopes
refusing to unwrap the strong safety of its arms.

It has been sanctuary.

© martha lee phelps