Before the Ever After: Part 2

I sing the haiku song I wrote for Daddy over and over,
until the empty house is filled up with something.

I remember my friend’s mama putting a plate
of liver in front of me. With onions and plantains
and I don’t know what all else.

The woods aren’t really woods, it’s just a park
with trails and trees and rabbits skittering
away from you.

And now he’s sitting here and saying it again,
not remembering
last year when he finally went for an audition.
He only had to say one line:
I’m Zachariah Johnson, and this is my car.

So you’re writing ballads now? he says, grinning.

You’re one of those sensitive musicians, huh?

We’re waiting to see if getting a thing called
acupuncture works. Waiting to try a thing called
a hyperbaric oxygen chamber. Waiting to see if
meditation can help his hands stop shaking.

We’re waiting to see if getting a thing called
acupuncture works. Waiting to try a thing called
a hyperbaric oxygen chamber. Waiting to see if
meditation can help his hands stop shaking.

I’m training, Everett says, holding up his wrists.
Weights supposed
to be good for resistance and whatnot.

My boys look at me. At home, my dad is probably sitting
at the window
or in his room asleep. The new medicine he’s on makes
him tired and groggy.