Housewarming

The last box is in.
You, overworked for weeks now,

Can feel little beyond exhaustion and relief.

And then, wouldn't you know it?

Seems like a hundred call or stop by;

Many of them bring a friend,
And most only stay for a moment;
It's hard to keep track.

One group got together

And made a silly music video for you, just for fun,

So you have to order in hors d’œuvres and screen it;

They hoot and blast air horns when someone misbehaves.

Should anyone be surprised you’re not serving popcorn?

What a mess they'd make.

And there are gifts.

Here is something beautiful, small:

A jar of fig jam.

It is wrapped in green tissue

And the fingerprints of an artist’s devoted effort.

Not from the easiest person; it is a surprise.

And here: a big box

Full of laughter and encouragement wrapped in iridescent bubbles,

Delivered with a smile by the FedEx guy.

And here: a large envelope neatly stuffed with shared opinions;
Essays on patriotism, politics, and picture shows—

You could frame some of them, they’re that good.

And here, here, and here: Pineapples,
Symbols of welcome and hospitality.
Armagnac? That's a bit of good timing…

Despite the slight but constant and nagging sensation 

That this is not quite finished,

Finally, you set on Sinatra, put your feet up, and let out a deep breath…

Oh—this was on the floor of the entry.

Someone peered through the letter-slot briefly

(But never knocked)

Before poking a crumpled scrap through.

Written on the back of a cinema receipt

Smelling faintly of roses and sandalwood,

The letters, crooked and slightly smudged, say only:

“Bless this place.”

for T.