Let’s Build A Home
By Logan Coggins
Come gather ‘round, young ones, come rest on my knee.
There is a story, untold, of your parents I hope will bring you glee.
This is a story of how to assemble timber and stone.
This is the story of how this house became a home.
As the sun awoke the mire,
I sat upon my porch and tuned my lyre.
In my hazy-daze I was caught abreast,
Arms peered ‘round my neck and on my back, a chest.
“Oh, lover mine!” I exhaled with zeal,
As a warmth I recognized became real.
“You mustn’t surprise me in a manner so queer,
For on a morning such as this, it is but death I fear!”
“Death? Why, there are fates far worse than that!
What if I had been a spider, bird or bat?”
“Those creatures would have the sense to announce themselves before I die.”
“Then a wild beast most ‘suredly am I,” she retorted with but a sigh.
“A wild beast that eats me out of health, hearth, and home,
Or is it something else that wears my labor upon its bones?”
But perhaps my ribbing was more than my assailant deserved,
For it seemed, by the look in her eyes, that I had struck a nerve.
“Oh, lover mine. While you adorn me in the finest silks of Rome,
This nest of rotten wood and foul earth is certainly not what I would call a home.”
Dawn rays illuminated that angel with indignation in her stance,
And I could see this conversation had come to me by more than chance.
With tepid steps I uttered my next words:
“Call this place what you will, for it is surely far grander than a house for birds.”
“Oh no,” she began. “The perfect word for a place such as this is ‘house,’
As I could never home in a place I must live as if I were a mouse.”
Growing weary of this game, I simply said, “Surely you jest,
For this house is far more than just a place you fornicate and rest!”
“It is for those reasons and many more that I tire of this life,
I no longer wish to be mistress or mouse; I wish to be a wife.”
“Egad!” I did say. “Must this really be how you tell me you feel this way?”
WHAM stomped her foot.
“I’ve told you five, ten, twenty times, you dolt!
If only I’d known you needed it spelled out to bring you such a jolt!”
“Then tell this provider, this breadwinner, this dolt head of mine,
What makes the line between house and home so fine?”
Hands on her temples and with a chuckle she did start:
“Why, if rain and snow both fall from clouds, do they feel so different in one’s heart?”
“Warm rain feeds the flowers, soothes the tired, washes away the dirt,
Yet even snow, pure at first, hides beneath its warmth nothing but frost and hurt.”
She continued, cerulean tears rising to azure eyes,
“Call forth the spider, bird or bat, for if I wake up betwixt these walls again, it shall not be you who dies!”
Seraphs above must have felt for one so young,
As clouds like elephants paraded in to block out the sun.
No bees were caught buzzing, no finches were caught tweeting,
As in this moment of reflection, words seemed fleeting.
Only arms outstretched to hold shoulders in pain,
The single sound heard miles ‘round was the sudden fall of springtime rain.
“I’ll call the carpenter on the morrow,” I said, and nothing more,
For now we knew the work ahead of us as we walked together out the door.
Close your eyes now, young ones, and rest your heads upon my knee.
This was the story, now told, of your parents I hope has brought you glee.
This was a story of how to assemble timber and stone.
This was the story of how this house became a home.
Logan Coggins is a North Country native and graduate of SUNY Canton’s Technological Communications program (renamed Digital Communications and Storytelling as of 2024). Hailing from Alexandria Bay, he enjoys spending time on his family's horse farm, on the river, and in creative endeavors ranging from graphic design to ceramics.