Just as no sidewalk crack has a twin,
Families don’t fracture the same.
Is it sadder to shatter? Or does it
hurt more when divisions grow slowly,
revealed deeper each winter’s thaw
then all at once, passive distance hits
When the oval canvases of
Garin and I, nautical siblings donning
chubby cheeks of three
(photos posed six years apart) that had lived
Happily for 20 years on dining room’s wall
Are taped in different boxes, sent to separate cars
hung over tables ten hours apart.
When tiny trinkets that
fell deep behind my six drawer dresser-
From bright plastic of careless childhood
To senseless wadded notes of adolescence-
Are swept out, widely discarded with
their dusty relatives from the past.
When my Saab is piled high, ‘college student’ style,
Not with Soft new sheets and shiny fresh binders,
but four years later, when shards of my childhood,
Baptismal dress, graduation gowns;
Second-grade paintings, senior awards
Are the weight felt in the right pedal
That twilight’s long drive home.