Growing up my house was always burning
Small sparks would start in the kitchen
I’d try to smother the flames with apologies
My fathers anger like rising heat seeping past each doorframe
My mother holding smoke in her lungs from the fires of her childhood
Generations of burnt foundations
Beneath the embers and charred memories
Lies the ashes of yesterday
My sibling holding hands and our breath
We’ll fight the fires on our own
Because a burning house is not a home
And we’ve always burnt alone















