to tiptoe
from the point
where the couch ended
and where the garage door
began
our new wood floors
my father laid
(he was so very angry that day
when I asked for a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich)
paid little
attention
to my need for silence
I was so tiny
I thought he wouldn't hear me
the guitar amps
high
and Steve's drum
beating me in
monotone overlays
Dad was right
they had none of
his
creativity
but I listened anyway for
his guitar
strange strings
plucked and I thought
when I lost the tune
he would lose it too
but the guitar was just going
other
places
I sat criss-cross
applesauce
by the pale tan
doorway
and the lock in gold
shone cleanly
there was a hole cut in the
wall
near the tile floor
because he used
to have a cat
and her litter tray
was
where his amps took over
and that cat is
gone
I could look
through the hole
with vibrant
pink
insulation still sticking
out
and see him playing
but somehow
he knew when I was there
and not in
bed
and like many
things
THAT made him angry
risking mind-
bruises
I listened from the other
side
of the garage door
anyway
and I still remember
his guitar was
blue
No comments:
Post a Comment