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Writer's picturehil hoover

home is a cool place


you offer the nightlight 

like it’s everything, 

like it’s salvation, 

like it’s the hand of god

reaching down from above

to rescue my tortured soul

from the things that go 

bump in the night


like it’s the bread that my 

empty stomach lacks or 

the medicine that could

stop the shaking 


like it’s your mother’s touch

when you were a child 

home sick from school

or your father’s steady 

hand picking you up 

after a fall 


but listen, 

we are not of the same world

and my home 

is a cool place 


my comfort a shadow 

to slide beneath when the 

heart-rend and bone-break 

have reached their limits 

and if you must offer anything

let it be 

your voice 

in your softest whisper 

carried into the darkness 


i am here, i am here, i am here. 

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