History

A pencil in her hair

just like her father

habits burned in,

learnt, yearned.

there's a grandfather clock

in my body

in the shaded corner

just under my heart.

A razor blade pendulum

A delicate teeter totter

move her gently for

she breaks like her mother.

She's walking a fine line

history repeated

her chaos is contagious

Set her down, down, down.

She's alone.

Always alone.

it's in her bones.
It feels like home
And home is sweet.

written December 11th 2014