In this house

praise arrives strangely.

A boy carries a bag of groceries

through the front door

and the air changes

as if someone has done something noble.

Later

a girl moves through the same rooms

collecting cups,

closing windows,

returning things to their small, correct places.

No one notices

how quietly order survives her.

Somewhere between them

an invisible calculator hums.

His hours

are counted in currency.

Hers, in habit.

When he grows older

they will say

his time is valuable.

She will already know

what hers costs.

And sometimes,

standing in the kitchen light,

she wonders

how a life

can weigh so little

until it begins

to earn.