Photosynthesis- blinded by light

My uncle’s fighting today,
the air in the living room is un-breathable.
I study my nan’s antique vases,
watch her tired hands rearrange flower heads.
She is so happy that they are alive;
there is something in this house that can still be saved.

The phone lines are disabled so we
wait until he’s ready to communicate.
We fold our arms across our bodies
and welcome the breaking of these make shift borders;
this distance which has stolen part of our life.

I promise myself that I can’t break down,
because she’s so ready to catch us.
I wash your dishes and let the cold soapy water
distract my hands from reaching for you.
Later we study them like a shrine,
we cover the cracks with our fingertips.
I tell her not to worry but she knows better.