Home of Belonging

By Abigail Morgan Prout

I am building a home of belonging
from repurposed intention
mossy grey pounded shoreline
tall black sway forests
of fir, damp cedar, alder

I belong to the roaring walls
of solstice fires
the ritual yearly witness of
our island children as they cross
the threshold flower crowned and grown

I belong to the Salish sea,
the teacher of patience as I learn how
to wait for boats
and wait for boats
and wait

I belong to the awe of the tides
ocean of emotion
twice changing in a day
a reminder of how much
is in constant shift under the surface
in and out and through
the narrow ripping straights
pulling between the craggy channels

I belong to the slicing barnacles,
tight black-lipped mussels,
bright sandpaper sea stars,
each one a party favor for the soul

I belong to deep teal kelp alleyways,
woven with sleek shots of seals
gunning for sockeye
breaking the tension
with loud whelps! of air
to gaze with detachment
towards our land-lubbing ways

I belong to the people that came
before us in the crunch of
clam shells underfoot
joyful reverence, burning cedar
sacred in longhouses
sweet scent of hand hewed cedar
singing to the same spirits
that I sang to in the forest
this morning, repurposing intention

I belong to the story
of the Orca whale, Mama Tahlequah
nosing the sucking currents,
pushing her stillborn calf
around our shale island
for seventeen days without eating,
consumed by grief,
tireless, as if to say,
“See what I have loved and lost.
Do not look away. See this. Feel this.”

Just like her,
I belong to what I love
when we love something
with our whole heart,
we belong to it forever