reverberation

if walls could talk,
these might mutter
or groan,
since they are tilted
at odd angles
knee walls bent
flat surfaces sagging
imperfect intersections

no one knows
what has transpired
in this attic
clues tell some tales:
a tax return,
cigarette burns
and a Jack Lalanne dumbell
hidden in the wall

soon it will be
a room for three girls
with hair of gold
and eyes of blue
walls bouncing the sounds
of pitched negotiations
laughter, games,
and sighs of sleep
echoes of a place
called ‘home’