Verse by @saoirse.grain

your laugh survives in the hallway my mother taught me how to fold a grudge the map was wrong but the walking was right the sky was the color of an unopened letter

the sky was the color of an unopened letter i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i counted every streetlight home i keep the porch light on for nobody

there is honey in the bottom of the bad years summer left its fingerprints on the glass the field went gold then went to sleep there is honey in the bottom of the bad years

i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand the bus came and i did not get on i buried the argument in the yard you never asked and i never stopped answering