the owl

you were an owl
at the top
of the stairs
listening
wide eyed
to the rumble
and roar
of parents under
seige of their own
crazed war. no
love, or photos
on the mantle.
such pretensions
never gathered.
and you listened
and listened
for some clue
to what brings
a house down,
to what would put
you in the dark
trees with your
wings so tightly
bound, until now.