A Diagram by Andrea DeAngelis

What do you do when family closes in?

Yellow wallpaper scratchings,

second-hand personality clashes

and patience itches threadbare

in a week shared?

What do you say when a father claims

you are his only friend

with more than thirty years between

that you understand him better than her?

What does he mean

when he says he can control his dreams,

fly backwards into time

spinning the hands counterclockunwise?

He is always waiting to tell you

how the world will end.

What do you do with your memory?

A diagram your father drew for you,

a picture of a marriage

inevitably falling apart

two lovers, their spheres of interest

papers and diapers,

pushing each other

away from one and another?

What will your father, your mother do

when the children leave

them all that empty white space between

and they don't remember what words to use?

Andrea DeAngelis is at times a poet, writer, shutterbug and musician living in New York City. Her writing has recently appeared in Tin House, Moth + Rust and Blue Monday Review. (www.andreadeangelis.com) Andrea also sings and plays guitar in the indie rock band MAKAR (www.makarmusic.com)