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50 B lue A ir House of Anger Balance this, you say, pointing at columns of figures that won’t match. But I have slept peacefully through years of unbalanced checkbooks. Your anger fills our house. It explodes the windows, moves out into the lawn. It becomes a house moving toward me, stepping on its foundations, wading through earth. You have your own faults, you say. I am full of holes like a rebel under fire, and that is why I stay, leaning against the wall, gathering silence around me like a blanket. But I do not have to tell you this. You have seen me standing here. ...

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