Sit down*     they will tell the floral curtains   the year they buy you a puppy  

who is small and blonde     and likes to sleep    under the table

where you traced  your response.       You are eleven and wondering

how  hearts       un-

                                    -sync       and    you do not tell them     that    you knew

that    the spare room  sheets gossip     that    your father snores.

Six thousand miles away  the ground will shake     but your hands will not.