House of Sticks

THIS is the day I told you about.
When the winds would blow so strong
you would not be able to tell from which direction
they came.
The wolf outside your door
And you, in a house of sticks.

THIS is the day I warned you about,
the day you would find yourself
to stand
or walk

THIS is the day
and the night
when you will hold vigil over all you love
and all you treasure
and wonder why
this day keeps coming
and each time

you are surprised.

THIS is the day.
Sisyphus knew this.
And maybe you do, too. Now.

THIS is the day when you are broken
and will regenerate.

THIS is your Maundy Thursday,
Good Friday
and Easter
all rolled into one.

And the good news is
THIS is the day you will greet the
sun rising over what once was your house,
knowing your neighbors, too,
are privately scratching their heads
and mending their hearts
while staring at their own
pile of sticks.

And your heart will ache
for sorrows not your own.

And your mind will seek
new ways of building
new ways of seeing
new ways of loving.

Have faith, dear one,
in the power to rebuild and rise
once more.

We have done it for centuries
and shall do it once more.
And again, and once more


THIS is the day.
It always is.


About TinaLBPorter

I write poetry and blog at And I'm thrilled to be writing with you.
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