I fry a single egg
in a pan.  

the sound places me
in one of my mother’s
teeth

as it dissolves.

I bring mother
the egg, and she believes
I am the same son
who brought her an egg
yesterday.

she eats the egg
over and over.

her attempted suicide
is not something
I know of.  she keeps it to herself

in the person she was.

i.

     allowed myself to be born.

promptly died
for my brother.

defended
on my own terms
interior

design.

ii.

led
one parent
to the lower
of two
police
states…

iii.

…emerged alone.  having sublimated
my son’s
memoirs.

while his children sleep, the father spins three bowls onto the kitchen table and waits for each to still.  he circles the table as a shell shocked circus dog.  from a box he is scooping handfuls of dry cereal into the bowls when he is informed by a memory how it’s happened that the milk is gone.  gone since the morning before last because a fourth bowl was needed.  his three children can now be heard upstairs shoving each other under the run of the shower.  minutes later three boys wrapped in towels watch as their father gags himself into convulsions on the love seat.  of the three, it’s my towel mother removes to swipe the sick from his mouth.  I get my father a glass of water.  something I’ve done before.  

looking back, I can see the empty bowls.  ahead, the outsourced eating.

following is a list of evocative baby names.  the least you can do is wait for it.  wait while my brother donates the blood I loaned him.  while my sister decides to believe in war.  believe because she is finally allowed to fight.  war because my brother is dying.  dying even though he has money enough to cover his inheritance.  a disabled twitter account.  that I often quote.  quote from inside my different *** marriage.  where I’ll meet my wife.  and her only child.

Staring at my hands;
a realization that
the love line that runs
through my palm
is broken.

*So that explains it.

I

The characters on the ashen keyboard were faded, now yellow smudges remain
and the words that once danced like clouds in his mind had been evacuated
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was wrong
while the shredder destroyed the lives of every personality he had created
(God's fading smile)
Littering the floor were the shards of paper, twisted and unnerving
Thin strips made new languages, new words, forlorn dictionary
Grasping at the shreds, our writer assembled a masterpiece
Seward on the Ouija board, advice from beyond
(Joyce laughed from) the grave

Scrawling longhand in a notebook on a jaunting bus through the city
No eye-contact, no interaction, careful contemplation
To the river he headed, concrete conscience
Writing nothing

Careless disregard for the laws of language
While they shunned his intellect
and tore pages before him
Scornful

No education, just a passion for words
Running away from his sadness
and learning that it don't stop
Ripples in the water
Single raindrop
Stop.

II

Start,
A tear fell backwards
Wrinkles in the brow begin to fade
Experiencing happiness for the first time, sweet joy
Sprinting in reverse, looking for the smile, return to a face
Think back to schoolyard glory and the books that were once relished

Admiration
They glued his life together
Praising the grinning genius before them
Careful preparation, consulting his Bible, The English Dictionary

Writing everything
To the world he was headed, mind free of guilt
Shaking the hands of a thousand folk, the happiness in a community
Caressing the keys of a pristine writing machine, black ink perfection on a white page

(Joyce sighed from the grave)
Seward on the Ouija board, applauded from beyond
Grasping at his hands, "this writer assembled a masterpiece"
Thin pages made new languages, new words, pregnant dictionary
Littering the coffee tables of many a home, words of beauty and precision
(God's enlightened gaze)
While the printer confirmed the lives of every personality he had created
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was correct
and the words that once drifted like clouds in his mind, now bees making honey, eternal hive
The characters on the immaculate keyboard were dazzling, free from corruption and scrutiny

You left
For England
Saturday
An it was raining when you left
An when you got back
It rained still.

And you were gone
For one week
Seven days.
Which is five school days
For me to squeeze through geometry
without you
(And
I
Can
Barely
Survive
With
You)

And Sarah asked
For a Union Jack
T-shirt
And told you
Not to forget.

And you brought it
For her
And
Got
Nothing
For
Me

But you told me
"You didn't ask
But if you want something
I'll get it for you
Next time.
I have to go back in
Six to eight weeks"

And I thought
You would have
Bought me something
Not as a
Souvenir
But
As
An
Apology

For leaving my alone
For a week
To live lonely

And yet
You'll go back
To England across the pond
In
Six
To
Eight
Weeks

Sometimes I doubt you're actually going to England.

Sometimes I forget I have a father.