Laundry hung to dry
drapes the windows in steam,
thick and hazy,
closing us in from the world.

Crowded at the table,
we eat white bean soup,
cloudy, opaque.

Everybody talking
nobody talking.

From a cardboard carton
baby chicks peep
their sun
a light bulb;
world in a box.

Mother clucks, makes
her hen sounds to shush them,
clucks to shush us.
Keep quiet.
Don't tell of anger or love.
Keep quiet.