Thirty voices fill the room, and my heart is brought to its feet.
A daughter's spinning dress blooms in the kitchen's angled sunshine, and we pull tooth # 2 bravely.
Crabapple trees on fire in the orchard, pink and explosive, and the grass goes uncut, the long-haired child always mistaken for a girl.
Her words, which I place in this heart-shaped treasure box. Thank you.
Home. Sweet. Home.