#NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 28 : “On A Floor Made Of Eggshells You Can’t Avoid the Cracks”

On a Floor Made Of Eggshells
You Can’t Avoid the Cracks

the house swivels
on stilts, we’re
bracing for an
Anne Bancroft breakdown
à la The Pumpkin Eater,
nervous about
her stillness, the shadows
on her weathered face,
the imprint
in her four-poster
growing smaller
as she shrinks,
cowering, ’til
we children
feel like giants
in her presence,
but we have no grip
or any concept
about how to handle this,
only a sense
of necessary violence
if she’s ever to return
from the invisible place
where echoes torture —
we imagine growing up
means we’ll be able
to finally hear them —
we tiptoe outside
her doorway, gauge
moods on whether
it’s open or closed,
wait for her to attack
the messes in the place
like a flock of murderous ravens,
& hope no one’s
standing in her way