My daughter tells me to make fire –
She doesn’t understand
we can’t go inside other people’s
houses. The homeless bless me,
it’s that bad. I must have a sign
on my head transported as I am
to fire logs at my feet,
long before the single room
a clan of wild dogs linked:
Mother, Father, Daughter, Granddaughter
Can I make it out of here?
I turn towards my girl
flick the lighter, her eyes going
so big they float in their own
weightlessness.