Only the moon came over the hills—a good nurse in sensible shoes. My breath caught in the branches of my ribs. The only house
From the kitchen, the smell of rising dough. Then, patience as a childhood exercise: Level with the counter, a child’s dark eyes fix on
I was raised here, safe within the walls of this house. Today I raze it, and its ghost moves into me, sharing my breath
Along with two chameleons the pet shop owner sold my parents mealworms in a cardboard takeout box (the kind for extra rice or eggroll)