The Stories Within
Jose Cancino
The house spoke, a silence broken,
of the violence it has seen;
The tears it has absorbed.
I remember that one night,
the house says in lament—
one punch to the sternum
dropped the woman like a baby doll.
Another—a kick to the face sent
her flying, hoping to be rescued.
The house tells of blood and wails,
in the nighttime sky.
Yet, only the cracked walls and
chipped paint—a tombstone
to Mom’s pain, and that bitter
silence—remain.