in my house the silence

was so huge, it
strained the walls; it
pushed into my room;
it tugged the sheets off my
toes and we
were all deafened.
in my house, we
used to line our linoleum and
hard wood with eggshells,
empty white whole halves
upon which I would
only pray to be so light
as to tread but
no. we never were, it
would not do. I wore
ballet shoes that forced
my feet into perfect
rounded semi-circle
points. they laced up
to my knees. I swam laps
until my skin reeked of chlorine (that
chemical tinge, I sweetened it with
perfume). I scrubbed those
fucking floors with vinegar, let
my knees get sore and
soaking but I have not yet learned what I have done so wrong.