The House Held Up By The Breeze
In the kitchen of the old house she perches,
hides her hands under her thighs so she won’t feel the cracks.
‘We could burn down the house, if we must’, she thinks,
but there is little to be gained from destruction,
and nothing to be plucked from ashes.
Like a peach will not ripen in the shade,
a person will not prosper in the shadows.
She thinks, ‘before a storm is the calm and after it the calm again’,
but the rain shows no sign of stopping here,
in the house held up by the breeze.
Copyright © Hattie Atkins 2018
Hattie Atkins is an 18 year old prospective undergraduate student of English Literature at the University of Edinburgh, currently living in Manchester.