Called at your door again today. Last time
it was April; now it is September.
The path is still the same in leaf and stone,
being forever written; thirty years
of bearing and breaking. Knocked softly,
once for the present, once for the past.
My heart, remembering, opened like an old book
that through long use has lost full hold, let pages fall.
Yet that thrill on the threshold; reunion
with a place known to hold and set you free
as a poem becomes the mind’s own motion.
Inside out, outside in – tree, rock and fell
breathe here as in their ancient forms; the house
holds steadfast, and speaks as a hidden spring
beneath bids, forbids, carries you home. To hear this
is to know the weight and livingness of the word.
Footsteps resound the rooms above like rain,
the staircase beats with the wings and echo
of a thousand inspirations. As though
memory had gone before I follow,
turn to see them as though watching behind
their waterfall of light. William’s
bowed reflection; Samuel’s far star-bound sea.
Dorothy, eternally making up the fire.
Homing Bird by Ruth Calway was commended in the Sentinel Annual Poetry Competition 2015 judged by Afam Akeh.