On Family Days
On Family Days
You don’t try hard
enough, she’d say.
All the while, his
thoughts grow increasingly gray.
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 murder scene.
She forgets, as he
forgets, control
will arrive soon
enough,
and that brachiated
spectacle of blame
and praise will
dissipate
like hurricanes
dispel after they touch 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.
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