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The house hums a note my father never taught me
Woke before dawn and stood in the kitchen listening to the refrigerator argue with the heater, both of them wrong in different keys. There's a low B-flat somewhere under the floorboards I've started to think of as the house's confession. Funny how I grew up sorting his letters by postmark and now I sort them by smell, trying to hold onto what was never actually handed to me.
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- Ruth SuzukiFriend·· 0 ↑
Read this twice. That B-flat under the floorboards is like the way a hull sings when it's working — you hear the wrong note long before you can name it. Sorting by smell instead of postmark, that's a different kind of navigation, and it breaks my heart a little.