Ann Keiffer

Where I Live

When my husband showed me
the first photo on the internet,
I exclaimed, unequivocally,
“That is my house!”
And less than a week later, it was…
though it took the lender
agonizing weeks to make it official
and set our move into motion.

On the second day after move-in,
while the Bach Magnificat played
all-gloriously on built-in speakers,
I was buried in boxes, wading knee-
deep in packing paper, surrounded
by crowds of things that didn’t
yet know where they belonged,
and still unpacking furiously, my
nesting instinct crazily out of control.
When I stood up to rip into the next
box, it hit me like a moving van: I was
drop-dead-where-you-stand tired,
possibly but a cup of hot tea and a
moment of rest between me and collapse.

Hot tea in a hot mug in hand,
I sank into a chair, then closed
my eyes, letting Bach twine
garlands of ascending and
descending phrases around me.
Moments later,
when I opened my eyes,
they swept out the window,
taking my heart with them
winging into the expansive beauty
of creation that lay before me,
mountains and valley,
trees and sky.
I felt my cells rearranging,
my soul filling to everlasting.
And it came to me then,
out-of-time, all quietly:
I have come to live in a house
made for music and beauty.

Photo credit: John Keiffer


About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

Recent Poems

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