EVERY TRIANGLED SIDE

I.

I bump into James

in the elevator,

haven’t seen him since

walking in on him and Dad.

My throat swells.

I can’t look at him without remembering him naked.

I look down.

Notice he’s bringing up our ornament boxes

from the storage space in the basement.

Four boxes stacked around him.

I don’t ask questions, but he explains quickly

that Dad wasn’t feeling well again,

Mom had a big project,

Dad asked if he could buy the tree,

bring the boxes up.

I don’t offer to help.

II.

Dad lying on the couch,

says what James has already told me.

I tell him I don’t need James’s help,

Dad says he didn’t know if I’d be around.

He sounds hurt, speaks in a voice

that leaves me with no right

to question.

III.

Later, everyone home,

Mom puts on a Christmas CD.

April puts a wreath on her head,

helps James hang the lights.

April seems unfazed by this new “family.”

I pretend to look through the boxes.

Blue glass balls that Mom made,

store-bought reds, greens and golds,

a peeled-nosed Rudolph,

a broken-hatted Frosty.

’Tis the season to be jolly!

Bing Crosby croons.

I pull a white unicorn with a red saddle from the box.

The smell of pine drifts

as they turn the tree into a blinking sky.

They all sing “Silent Night,”

I snap off the creature’s horn.

Pocket it.

Tell them I still need to buy gifts.

Float out the door.

IV.

On the street,

smoke a red I bummed from Chloe.

Fairy bells jingle as I enter Celestial Treasures.

Dark Side of the Moon on low as a whisper.

I walk over to the crystals:

a shelf of tiny violet cities,

walls of windows,

every triangled side, a light.

I palm one that looks like the skyline.

For a minute I think about getting it for Dad.

Then I remember what I walked out on:

Mom. Dad. April. James.

Together. Playing perfect family.

I go to the earrings,

pick out some star studs, for April.

Gloria is folding tapestries.

Asks me how my sister’s doing,

asks with some concern,

I say fine (as always).

Wonder why she cares so much.

After I pay, on my way out,

I pull the horn out of my pocket;

bury it in the folds of the window display

before I scurry away.