The third house was the most difficult to build because I built it in the center of a lake and the walls always sank. There was constant weeping. I made a chimney but maintaining the fire was enormous and impossible. I built gutters for the roof but the rain of lake-water was too much for it. I was always pushing my chair back from the table, water filling up every pore, like being in love.
One morning, we stood with a card in our hands, and though Our Mother was seated in the tiny circle of light at her sewing machine, she wasn’t sewing, the machine wasn’t humming, and we were afraid.