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.