Sears sent boxes of her grandparents’ new
home up the tracks from Dover, Delaware.
Men dug a hole, cemented its sides against
bugs and dirt. New wood bored in the wall
made cellar steps—still stable now as three
generations later she surfaces into the living
room, warm basket in arms, lasagna in oven,
their first awaking from his nap. When he’s
fresh in his high chair and green beans steam
on Grandmom’s range—as pulses go rushing,
the porch door hinges will soon whistle open:
Tom always knows his heart belongs at home.
Unbroken Journal, January 2016
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