Shouts from the kitchen-
Your name crashes and engulfs you in its wake-
Your heart struggles to get farther away from your ears.

There’s always safety in the familiar-
You are your own stability.
The reflection of your face stops you short
And your hand reaches to feel the changes.
The anchor that was holding you here,
Holding you home,
It’s gone. Where will you drift now?

The clock with the chimes melts down the wall,
Its sound muted by your socked feet.
All that’s left is gentle
Pattering throughout that place,
That one that you called home.

If you’re not often still, then your mind forgets its chaos.
But now you sit with neatly crossed legs,
Eyes closed, and listen.
As your name fades and fumbles over itself,
You recall that little girl in the oversized heels.