She doesn’t sleep any more
Or
She sleeps too much

She’s around a lot more now.

When she does leave she always comes back quickly;
Sometime with a bottle in hand,
Sometimes with that green stuff that fills us up with smoke,
Sometimes with both.

She closes the door gently.
Trying not to alert the rest of the house of her presence.
She paused.
With her ear to the door
Slowly turning the lock on the doorknob
(there is the faintest of clicks).
We all relax
As she falls into bed
She sighs
We creak

Home.

It is always better when she’s home.
She is safer here.
We do not know what it is like out there,
But from the look of her it is nowhere near as good as here.
We feel whole when she’s home.
We have become one.

We are thick enough to keep her in, warm and secure.

But sound travels along the wood floors and long hallway,
A direct path
to us.

She cannot help but hear those sounds
Angry
Yelling voices
We watch her as she cries
again.

We cannot catch her tears as well as her pillow can;
But we move in a little closer,
To hold her a little tighter,
To keep her a little longer.

-4 walls a ceiling and a floor

–By Brandy B. ♦