the mother of wands 

pruning sheer under pillow,
i cut the crab grass from around AM.
the snake in the sink, faucet
drip over forehead. two nights
ago we witnessed the moon 
in the sun room window. how she
took up all the space she could.
the yellow room with the green chairs 
& the muscle memory of passing by,
the piano neither of us play.
in the bedrooms i pass you a handsaw 
& we finally take apart the bunk beds,
it's been at least ten years coming,
the snake in the closet, the moon
drying with the other dishes.
bowls of vanilla bean ice cream. 
you moved away to college yesterday 
& i didn't call you. i found the elk
antlers & super glued them
to my skull. will this hold?
i'm asking you because you were
the one i would wake up in the middle
of the night when we were younger
when the dark of the room became too alive,
shaking your shoulder, your eyes: two 
christmas lights. you'd roll over
& let me have the top bunk. let's
take it down, mattress on floor,
in the sink. wet with apricot nectar.
in the bath tub where
the lady moth becomes two playing cards,
queen of spade & heart. completion 
of a cycle, i know you believe in
god & relinquish all need for a mother.
i'm still taking off lipstick 
from the first day i moved into a dorm 
& told that window who i was. did
you sleep well? i hope you didn't.
will the mass be in portuguese this week?
will the bicycle tires remember your name?
tell me, brother, what ever was 
the point of fathers anyway?
what use for a past/present/future
when they all sleep in the same bed
that smells like petrichor?
will you promise me? if you don't
i'll roll the eggs down the staircase,
back to the kitchen where the snake
is still in the sink. where there
are apples rotting in the fruit bowl
& flies like escaped obsidian 
pirouetting again. our father
sweating like a green beer bottle,
his bottle-caps on the floor.
mom un-doing a line of knitting,
taking the walls down. the storm
windows. the yellow & blue bowls.
don't miss it.
don't miss it.