House Hymn By Aakash Suchak I looked up, and she stirred something in me. The red carpet hummed, the piano whistled auburn mudslide. She sang like a choir, she sang like a bullfrog, like a tough widow with a homeless bite. She sang like an open window; An immaculate baker, my rolling convict. This solemn monk sinking like a chaste anchor. Now, in the shallow water, A wet cloth, a harsh slap on the rocks. During grace, she sparks into song, ignites the hymn And sets the room alight.