Atlas and Alice, Issue 16
Diana Donovan
Some Houses The houses where you were afraid to fall asleep they weren’t like the others on the tree-lined street by the pond the neighborhood kids cleared after the snow everyone lacing up their skates as the sun climbed high on the ridge setting up the plywood hockey goals—and later one of the moms would bring steaming Thermoses of hot cocoa no—the houses where you crept into bed scanning for danger they were different—you might wake to raised voices sound of glass breaking and was that the crack of bone? someone having trouble getting words out maybe she’s on the ground, maybe there’s blood in her throat and lying very still—frozen—instead of getting up to see thinking about the day when you’d be allowed to ride in a car with a boy and you could sip hot cocoa to warm your numb hands and face maybe some day you’d live in a quiet house you’d like that, wouldn’t you?
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