Words Were Changing
–Miller Oberman

Thanked for kindness, I said
you’re welcome, and welcome
spun back to what it meant,
before. Welcome, come
in, in accord with my will.
Come into warmth, you
are wanted, were waited
for. Welcome to these
arms, spread out, exposing
the bearer’s heart.
You are well come, it is well
you have come for me.

And if night swallows
us, it will be well, we
will be welcome –
the gates swing wide,
the bridge arcs tenderly
up over the river.
I laid a path, pruned
trees for your body
to pass through.
My bread, your bread.
My rafters, yours, timber
above our heads, or
to float on.

I fell asleep by the fire
near a bag of barley,
sweet smoke, and the kettle’s
belly, rounded iron
forged on a day no sharpness
cut the mind of its maker.
There were other days
for sharpness, edges.
It is important to know
the difference of days,
and this was not one.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash