SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13

I visit my dad’s new apartment.

He thinks it’s temporary.

I can tell by the way he only unpacks

what he thinks he needs—

boxes lining the walls

as if in waiting.

My mother has kicked him out before.

But this was the first time

she had proof: iMessages

he deleted from his phone

but not his computer.

Rookie, even now.

He wants me to spend the night

wants to talk about my brother

wants to talk about fixing

our family.

Somehow when he envisions all the things

that need fixing, all the things

that are wrong with our lives

in a gallery of portraits

and fractured landscapes

he never sees himself

in the frame.