by Emily Kramer

In between the piano and floral-printed

wallpaper of my living room, I could squeeze,

limbs poking out from behind porcelain keys at

right angles, while my mother

fit between the thin

pages of her Bible; She counted

Rosary beads in the basement with the lights off, praying

to deter the wrath of God, while I prayed

for a flood, herded my fifteen plus stuffed

animals into my bedroom closet for shelter, a mismatched

Noah’s Ark, often not before the clouds ceased colliding, fingers

crossed in secret for a greater

crash, light that barged through the cracks

of the collapsing door.