You know the emptiness
of a full house, step-
sisters bickering from wall to stair
to shut-tight window
spite and pout and squabble
eating up the air
and all the stillness
in between.
You sweep out the hearth
with its flushed embers,
ashes that still remember
how to burn.
Homespun, a dull dustpan.
You streak your cheeks with soot
so no one notices
how you remember.