in my parent’s house

in my parent’s house
i wake up to the
sounds of
heart pine steel
whispering as not
to wake me, soft
padding of
footsteps in the
hall, across the kitchen

in my parent’s house
we are held
heart pine steel
reinforced by
the breathing columns
shuttling in and out of
our particular
nucleus, like bio-
trying to make a living

in my parent’s home
they are
heart pine steel
every morning
every evening
warmth – and
everything is anchored
like some
sort of enchantment

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