by Matthew Rohrer    It was a basement with its own basement，    and in that basement were machines    and dusty weapons， the engines of the house；    where the floor gave way because of intense pressure    from below， and magma boiled up    through the wood-looking tiles；    where to leap to safety    broke my sister's foot；    where the animals that weren't as smart as we    were captured and admired；    where we watched in horror as the ski lift    lifted the men inexorably to death；    it was my favorite room in the house.