she ran home with her sins;
down the steps
and round the flower beds-
careful not to trample them-
and through the back door.
it was freshly painted, that door.
she went into the house
where it all began:
the sins, she means.
she hopes you understand.
there is too much in this world
that she cannot allow
so she tucks each jewel
back into the crevices of
each brick
that her house was built of.
that was where
her mother's screams
and her dad's belt
and the blades in the night
and the empty bowls of soup were;
she kept them
in each jewel
in each brick
buried
deep down.
home was where the heart was,
after all.