CHAPTER VIII

Autumn was an argument about hair & how much of it.

Too much not enough just right but just for now & then it was winter.

The licorice of every season was rather inappropriate.

Well OK how about this. & you put on more of my deodorant.

What can one do but put on more deodorant?

Paris, lopsided, was still Paris. A congregation, a conflagration.

A smiling conundrum in the form of a ladder it takes years

to climb down. In our last (ever) Scrabble game, you changed my “whore”

into “whored.” I tried to ask my parents to leave the room,

but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size

of my life. Because my life was small. & wanted to eat candy corn

instead of confrontation. Raising one’s voice in a small space

felt at once godlike & childish. You agreed with me

out of a practical concern. & I loved you for it. We were two

horses in search of the least abandoned constellation.

But the night sky was overtaken by the beatitude of the ultimate horse.

Also Ben had upset Wes with his choice of neckties but then

the author decided it would all be better in second person actually.

When did I first realize my parents were not infinite?

That I could see the end of them? Past their capes & catchphrases?

One day in fourth grade my teacher said, You’re lucky to be

so young. You’ ll heal up from that bicycle accident in no time. No scars.

No time. No scars. Sing it with me. Loud as Reykjavík summer.

Easy as my Etch A Sketch when I made a mistake.

I will try my best not to mistake you for my parents I mean my problems

with my parents I mean me. Believe with me another

melody. That the room, the life could go by a different light

& we could say hello. Meaning gentleness with all our might.