I glance at the halo around the sun
before I go in the lobby.
Mr. Lamb said they
can be warnings: storm moving in.
But the sky is otherwise clear.
At the front door,
turn the key,
no one comes to greet me.
Finally:
empty house,
no one to tell me lies,
make pretend.
Head straight
to the bathroom
to wash away
Ponytail’s prints.
Open the door—
I am not alone.
I see a figure crouched in the corner
of the shower,
faucet just dripping.
A hunched body
shivering in the water’s pool.
Dad.