I’ve only crossed the threshold a half dozen times,
sat on a folding chair in the dining room eating
Krispy Kreme doughnuts once and yet it feels
more like home already than this house we’ve
occupied since we came to town last year.
Occupied is the right word, like an invading
army occupies another country, or a passenger
occupies an airplane restroom. We’ve been
interlopers here, never once believing these
walls were strong enough to hold our stories.
I can stand in the empty rooms of our new home
and tell already it is more than a one-story house.
I can hear the conversation of friends around our
dining table, see the vegetables coming up in the
back yard, hear Ginger coming in the front door
as Ella slides across the dark hardwood floors
to greet her. And on a spring afternoon, several
springs from now, I can see us sitting on the
front porch, drinking sweet tea and Guinness
respectively, as if it had always been that way.