A House of Silent Rules

This is the house they were brought into. Row after row, along the street.

Front gardens trimmed to matching lengths. Porcelain figures line the shelves. Polished weekly,

never touched. Crystal glasses catch the daylight. Placed too high for hands like

ours. Flowers taught when not to bloom, not to compete. The doorway rises

far too proudly for the size of what it guards. Decorations carved to

look like stone. Lightweight copies playing hard. Doilies stitched in careful circles,

lace that gathers what must stay. Curtains tied with golden cords holding sunlight in

its place. Shoes are left behind the threshold. Lemonade must stay untouched.