First they had to set it upright.

A system of pulleys and levers and rope

It took a day or two (what’s a day in Oz? 24 hours like ours?)

They drew straws to scrape off the witch corpse.

No one had ever owned a house like this.

They saw the photos -

Loved ones, they assumed.

So they hung their own on the walls.

Dishes and crockery lay scattered.

Meals, they realized. People who love each other

Eat together, too.

Artwork - so they made paintings.

Washing tubs.

Furniture.

Blankets and beds.

They chose a mother and father and child

To move in.

A garden was planted.

The children grew and soon there were more.

Holidays celebrated.

In time, there were deaths, of old age.

Love, beauty, sorrow, laughter.

That’s what made a home more than a house.

They built more. They loved more.

With a home, they realized, life had meaning.

The house that blew in that fateful day

Was just wood and nails.

Over time it became a living thing.

It breathed life to all who knew it.