this fear is unburnt
perhaps because the house
is different without the
children
perhaps liberation is
too free and vast
this fear is unburnt
the flicker, in small-town
small talk
they mean well
but you wonder if it is
that we could become
as young girls again
in this house
in these floors where
nobody burns the fears
the children touch
and you wonder in a
light that evade
if ever your mother tried
to kill herself
a blunt afternoon
coming in as the
friday night
