"She hovers at the window, alert to how the house breathes, exhalations as the front door opens, shudders. She hears movement. Footfalls, creaks, the downstairs kitchen cupboards. House-breaths rattle her apartment door the slightest, ripple. If the house was a body, the hallway and the staircase might be lungs."
What do you want?
Standing in the dark, peering in.
What do you want?
And when confronted, nonchalant,
though pearls of sweat form on your skin,
and shameful conscience stirs within.
What do you want?
"firefighters have been tirelessly protecting
I want to hug them and say thank you
can’t extinguish the fear and anxiety
we live in a different world now."