Home Alone
Light flooded through the stair-landing window,
fired the cut glass candy dish, and broke into colors
across the low bookcase. Home alone,
that itself enough rapture, but now this worldly joy.
I remember trying to remember it, fix it, make it stay
— what was I, ten? eleven? —so beautiful.
I knew it could not last, but hoped its memory would.
by Nils Peterson
from Finding the Way To One’s Self
Enjoying the content on 3QD? Help keep us going by donating now.