There will always be
something broken left
in the attic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Kissing the dust,
A hide out
from sun rays.

There will always be
something silenced right
behind

the closed door:
mom's chapped lips
dad's cracked hands

Shushed— "let our child sees no traces,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ let them think it's alright."

Not even a brave wave
could sink it down

they’re holding still
the water's rising, seeps
through every nook and cranny.

but,
won’t a small leak sink a great ship?

He loves antiques, so much
he would turn it into
a shipwreck—reserved and intact.