A part of me still lives
in the house I grew up in.
In the meals my mother made
steaming, every night.
In knowing I was the good one,
the one who knew best, standing before my brother,
teaching him how to grow up, how to live after that,
holding his hand.
I want to be smaller, now.
I want to rescue my dollhouse,
to paint pink again my childhood room,
the chamber of my heart,
I want to rehold my brother’s hand.
A part of me still lives in that house
I grew up in. A part of me still lives
in the womb of my mother, my mother the wife
of my father and mother of her son, my brother,
and of me, the only daughter in a line of men.
I want to be good. I want to live
in the house I grew up in with my brother, my mother,
simply, filling my hungry belly again
with the good things and my heart with them, too.
in the house I grew up in.
In the meals my mother made
steaming, every night.
In knowing I was the good one,
the one who knew best, standing before my brother,
teaching him how to grow up, how to live after that,
holding his hand.
I want to be smaller, now.
I want to rescue my dollhouse,
to paint pink again my childhood room,
the chamber of my heart,
I want to rehold my brother’s hand.
A part of me still lives in that house
I grew up in. A part of me still lives
in the womb of my mother, my mother the wife
of my father and mother of her son, my brother,
and of me, the only daughter in a line of men.
I want to be good. I want to live
in the house I grew up in with my brother, my mother,
simply, filling my hungry belly again
with the good things and my heart with them, too.