The Spirit House
Poem
The carpenter laid his hammer down
he felt the quiet
as a sweet kiss
a creaking
the ghost was nigh
if he listened
she would speak to him
and he would see things clearly
If only he could speak to her
he persevered
In his hand he held a nail
“Oh, how we hold things together”, he thought
and he felt for a moment, the strength he held in his hands
He stood up
the foundation he had laid
held him upright
And the thought occurred,
“I am this house”
The ghost was watching
as a lover does
with a sense of presence
laid bare from exhaustion
Why this house?
Am I not dead? she thought.
But he persevered,
nail after nail
“I am this house,
I feel it in my being”
“I do not live”, she thought
“I do not live
I am not this house!”
What am I?
He could not see her, but he knew
He whispered, “You are the void that fills my heart.
And my heart is your home.”
She asked, is it I that haunts you, or do you haunt me?
He replied, “Always I am with you, when I am with me.”
“I build this house
so that you may at last
be still
and truly be.”
more by JULIE MAYA PANDA
photograph by Aurélien Bellanger
