The amaryllis curl on each miniature teacup—a gesture for small
sips. A daysprawl here pared down to detail: another origami
ornament, you bent over the footed stove, breathing rosemary,
the yellow glow from a lone lamp. First, we arrange our hands:
the gaping fourth frame recedes with each impossible pose.
We are nude with kid talk—bicycles & first books—whispering
makeshift history into soft walls. Too late. We are so grown &
cannot un-consider the clock. The instinctive cling toward sleep
shaken off, I line up shoes in the closet, shampoo bottles on the
bathroom sill. You tuck our figurines under the trundle bed.
We put this house away.
© 2006 Hanna Andrews