The rooms we grew up in. The people who shaped us before we had any say. Parents, houses, memory, and the afterlife of home.
On the steps outside of music class You taught me how to jump through time. The wrought-iron handrails, Your grip so tight— Tiny feet stuck on those stone steps That looked wet even in the sun.
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No. 11
One day you'll watch From the back seat of the car Your Dad grab your Mom's hair
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No. 5
One day, when you're six years old you may watch your Dad leave, and have just the
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No. 15
When you leave home for the first time, Someone might recognize you by The sound of your voice, the way you wear your
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No. 105
I wish I could have warned you. I know it all seemed like just a game—
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No. 14
I watched you with a 4-crayon pack, Filling letters with a careful hand, Each stroke a single color.
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No. 7
What if you got so good at lying That they could just float out of you And fly away and pop
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No. 106
You don't have to lie. Your truth is a flawless silhouette in a blacktop dream,
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No. 107
The champagne ship sailed through the night returning to a home washed over by the waves of the unknown.
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Collection No. 1
Imagine I was right there with you When you looked up to your bedroom ceiling
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Collection No. 105
I wish I could have warned you. I know it all seemed like just a game—
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Collection No. 107
The champagne ship sailed through the night returning to a home washed over by the waves of the unknown.
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