Coming To

by Florence Weinberger

I want to know where the house of an instant of seeing is . . .

—Czeslaw Milosz

When I’m writing and the veil lifts, lets me see
that the uncommon dogs in my dreams
and the man who walked into the Red Sea
where no prior footsteps existed
are as apt in partnership as my husband and I were,
fitting as anything and I can be, that’s when
I come back home, like Hansel and Gretel,
following crumbs of memory. The veil lifts
only when I’m doing what I least understand.
Moving to move my blood. They moved a house
in my neighborhood. Tore up its memory,
let in a stretch of sky I’d never seen before.

That is the mystery: how I inhabit this house,
moving every day, from bed to my kitchen,
staying and moving, lifting blankets,
glasses, packages of food.
Moving under the veil of the sky.
And sometimes, for an instant, my house lifts.

***

Six times nominated for a Pushcart, once for Best of the Net, Florence Weinberger is the author of six books of poetry, most recently These Days of Simple Mooring, winner of the Blue Light Press Book Award. Her poems have appeared in journals including Calyx, Rattle, Mantis, River Styx, Ellipsis, Poet Lore, Comstock Review, Baltimore Review, Nimrod, Cider Press Review, Poetry East, Shenandoah, and numerous anthologies.