Enter my house.
My door has been tightly closed in these times.
Plagues are about,
and there is much pain to fear.
You have been there, outside,
for a thousand and more days now.
I catch you watching me through the windows.
Patient, attentive, and curious.
Yet I keep out anyone new.
Those I don’t know well enough,
to rely upon,
to admit to my shelter
against the pain.
Today, though, something changed.
Today, my fears were upended
for one brisk moment,
by a curiosity
of my own.
I suppose I could not hold back the smile on seeing you.
How, after all, could you wait so long?
yet so peacefully un-insistent?
What in this world does that?
I can see now,
you have been the friend all this time
who came knocking
because of the grave circumstances.
And all the while, I closed my door to your goodness,
I guarded myself against the unfamiliar.
How foolish to keep out
the best friend I will ever know.
You bring no danger.
You are generous and ask for nothing.
You are gentle, spirited, and light-hearted.
Your touch is so delicate
it breaks hearts open
Come then, friend,
enter my home.
Become the warm tea I will drink
and the comfort we discover as
– in meeting –
we arrive at our true purpose together.
After all, we were made for each other
you and I,
and the kindness that waits for it.
I made my soul familiar — with her extremity —
That at the last, it should not be a novel Agony —
But she, and Death, acquainted —
Meet tranquilly, as friends —
Salute, and pass, without a Hint —
And there, the Matter ends —
– Emily Dickenson