The Belonging Bubble

The house does not come as a surprise
it is where I would build a house
where anyone would
where a magician would throw down
a brick and mortar casserole
of happiness, paused dreams
no regret, silence
a recipe for the foundations and the finish.

With the ease of an eagle
taking flight from the cliff behind that house
as the border marks a new province
my breath slows
and an identity of belonging
rests easily back on my strained shoulders
like a well worn, familiarly scented
beloved shawl.