Back past Jimmy, the elevator, the door,
not wanting to open it, knowing I have to . . .
How will I look at him. What will I say.
They are there. Huddled in the living room.
Dad, April, Mom. No James in sight. Family meeting.
Whatever that means.
Sit down next to April. Put my arm around her.
They don’t ask where I went.
Dad says he’s sorry for what I saw,
didn’t know I’d be home early.
Mom puts her hand on Dad’s knee.
Says she and Dad met in the sixties,
a time of exploration
(like this is a history lesson).
Then she says we have an open marriage.
Do we know what that means?
April shrugs. I nod slowly.
It means she knows Dad sleeps with James.
It means they both think it’s okay,
it’s something they’ve agreed to.
It means Mom has lovers too.
Maybe her studio is a place where she makes more than art.
Dad says they’ve arranged it this way, out of love.
|
For who? |
Not for us. |
|
Dad reaches his hand to me. |
Trying to offer comfort. |
|
His fingers look too long, |
disfigured. |
All of their friends, parties,
the disco lights, red, green, blue, spinning.
Wine glasses. Joints.
April and me. The balcony. Alone.
There are no stars.
|
Just people lost |
wandering |
in the dark.