Housewarming

This is from my little calendar of poems and ponderings that my friend John makes and gives as New Year's gifts each year.

Housewarming by Thomas Smith

In my dream I was the first to arrive at the old home from the church. Wind and night had forced through the cracks. I pushed inside, turned on the lamps, lit a fire in the stove. Frozen oak logs stung my fingers; it was good pain, my hands reddening on the icy broom-handle as I swept away snow. On Christmas Eve, I prepared a warm place for my mother and father, sister and brothers, grandparents, all my relatives, none dead, none missing, none angry with one another, all coming through the woods.