A country is a toddler’s hand
that holds you as long as it can before it falls asleep.
A city is a clipboard with lists built and crossed out,
clutched like a punctuated flotation device.
A house is a curled mollusk
fossilized as soon as milk goes sour.
A room is a patient stone in kidneys
kept alive by conflict and clay.
A heart is a spoon
most of the time.