You come to the house at 3 a.m. in the cold.
Your mother greets you at the door with no words,
only pebbles in her mouth.
You walk along the dim hallway
to a small room flooded with light.
It contains twin beds, a dusty mirror,
fading prints, dark wood.
It contains the end of the world.
There is a ringing in your ears
as you kiss your father for the last time.