i'm taking you to meet my family i'm taking you to meet my family. outside, it's bright early fog. our garden grew in reverse this year, all the flowers pressing themselves deeper into the soil. we dug to unearth them but in the air they crumbled & fall apart. in our cupped hands we held the petals. we wanted to arrive with boquer fists. you ask if my parent know we're in love & i tell you of course they don't-- who would trust their family with that kind of truth? i think of my family in their glass thrones & their spectacles. some lay in fish tanks. some in jars. i think about high school & going to a boyfriend's family reunion. i had a cheap sequin purse i held the whole time like a screaming infant. a carousel of aunts & uncles visited me to ask who i was. my boyfriend pointed out which cousins he thought were hot. men played horse shoes. clang of metal against earth. i regret this. you don't want to see them. you don't need to see them. is family a secret or a story? no, a story is always a kind of lie. yes, i prefer my family as a story. when i first told you about them i said we lived in a kingdom of corn & woven sidewalks. i told you our windows were made of sugar. none of this was a lie only all of it is. i hold your hand & your tremble. the front door of a house rises like a wave. i tell you we can go back & we can pretend to be orphans. orphaned poets who found each other in a knot of city & lamp light. you weep & everything goes funhouse & gold. next thing i know i'm in a room alone with my father. he is a raven this time. he clutches a ring in his beak & laughs then i'm in a bad tub with my mother. she pretend to be drowning & then laughs at my frantic response. blinking back i'm with you again & we keep walking through the same doorway over & over but i won't stick. come on come on, you say. nothing. no where to walk into. i tell you i want to try again someday but you are hurt & i do not try to appease you with another story.