Not Leaving the House

When Kai is born

I quit going out

Hang around the kitchen – make cornbread

Let nobody in.

Mail is flat.

     Masa lies on her side, Kai sighs,

     Non washes and sweeps

We sit and watch

     Masa nurse, and drink green tea.

Navajo turquoise beads over the bed

A peacock tail feather at the head

A badger pelt from Nagano-ken

For a mattress; under the sheet;

A pot of yogurt setting

Under the blankets, at his feet.

Masa, Kai,

And Non, our friend

In the garden light reflected in

Not leaving the house.

From dawn till late at night

     making a new world of ourselves

     around this life.