My grandmother
must have brought it over with her
from the old country,
the recipe for making a home:
stacked bibles and tarpaper
a can of Crisco
then three feet of snow piled on top
a corner for the sewing machine
a spot to hang Jesus
the creak of every door that opens and closes
the word for hope in Finnish
a stiff finger to break the soil
one apple tree
two daughters
a dead son
a faithful husband
Finally, a Formica table
to roll it all out, to flatten the dimensions . . .
to bring heaven closer to the earth.
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