by Adriana DiGennaro

    (for my parents)

    Our house, positioned
    Neatly on a plot of yard
    Near a main road, has existed for years.
    Seasons, like boulders rolling downhill,
    Can never be held on to.

    This summer, passing sirens blare every day.
    The screech of a car, accident-like
    Scrapes the afternoon air.
    My mother constantly looks out the window.
    I have been silent. She asks, "What did you say?"
    Traffic noise, shouts,
    A pounding bass,
    interrupt bouts of silence.

    The family dog passed away
    One dark day in August.
    We cried first out of fear, and later, of loss...
    I remember how the sky looked on that morning,
    Opening up and brightening
    Like a crescendo of sad violins.
    And I wept as day broke.

    My parents' voices throw themselves
    into the air like heavy jagged rags, suspended there.
    they blame each other when they shouldn't place blame,
    they deny themselves when they needn't be denied.

    These walls soak up what we wish we didn't feel
    Absorbing emotion, sponge-like.
    Vociferation of anger, tears and silent wails from past sorrows
    Stay captured inside.
    I marvel at their strength, their capacity to stay intact
    while inundated with all that rages from the human heart

    The house sits back, indifferent, as we settle weakly in its chairs.
    Sighs stick soft and dry in the upholstery.
    Lights flick on, bright whispers of need.

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