| Pater In the half-light of the television We were illuminated, but only partially, On the floor Of the studio on California street. I had only just been hit by the car. I did touch you, but only faintly, The way one traces the outline of the empty plate That hasn't yet been touched. We were pretending to have money, but really We were borrowing, and poorly, but you Were our shiny toy, our stray, a circle With no lines, no boundaries- dangerous. I patted you on the head and tried to keep Your greedy fingers at bay. We laughed. The dog was young then, and clever And the cats were grateful for a new knee To polish. I slept on the rug, under the kitchen table, In the bathroom, anywhere that wasn't the Intersection of De La Vina and me and a car, My back should have gotten better, but didn't. In the flicker and glow I memorized your face, Marvelled at my skin on you and yet Not mine, The duplicated eyes, and silently cursed The hands that weren't there, that hadn't cupped A chin or stroked a forehead, The body that had created us separate, Separated us. Here's the secret- We all have our secrets, and not one of us Is hungrier Than the next, But not all of us are found On Thanksgiving, hanging Like a swing recently abandoned by a child. |