First and Second DraughtThe house is always cold in the evening time, and all that moves are the billowing curtains. I trace my hand through them and feel soft fingertips touching back, grasping and reaching for a familiar touch. There is a faint smell in the air that brings backFirst and Second Draught
feelings of old, and memories flood back to my cobwebbed mind, erasing time. The roof was never repaired and their rain rests sympathy on the curtains, helping them grow taller, stronger and fruitful. I laugh at thinking I would always feel
the same way, that I would always feel the warmth at night,
