On Family Days

On Family Days


You don’t try hard enough, she’d say.
All the while, his thoughts grow increasingly grisaille.
She can’t smell the fear he inhabits,

a macabre work of art from which he comes and goes,
the run of wind at a deserted crime scene.
She forgets, like he forgets, control

will arrive soon enough,
and that brachiated spectacle of blame
and praise will dissipate

like hurricanes weaken after touching land.
They’ll both be left wondering about the pieces
of debris, the river’s current,

and how much to fix of whatever comes undone.




©  Sergio A. Ortiz, Published in Right Hand Pointing Issue # 31, 2010

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