I hear the breathing of this house,
it’s silent yet it’s full of noise.
The creaking of its ribs as lungs
flex in and out. A clock, its pulse,
as blood pumps through its corridors.
The freezer’s drone denotes its thought.
The walls it wraps around me, an
embrace, to hold me tight and safe.
Later, I’ll hear creaking springs,
as it relaxes next to me
and dreams.

I realised late this morning, that I’d been home in silence since first thing, except it wasn’t silent, and I wasn’t truly alone.
(01.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025