Shards

I suppose it was the geography
of my Dad’s new life
that made my brain register
the words
“broken home”
(when I was eight,
a hurricane called Andrew
went through the Carolinas
chewing up houses and spitting
them into their neighbors yards,
and I felt sorry for all the people
from broken homes).

My mother certainly seemed broken;
she spent most of those
first months
in her bedroom, sleeping
and staring out windows like
a stoical, department-store
mannequin
(I would leave cold
peanut butter sandwiches
on her bureau,
not knowing what else to do).

And home,
which had always been
warm brown & full of good smells,
was now cold
(because we couldn’t afford heat),
and empty
(like the ruts in the driveway
where my father had parked his car).

The postcards and pastel packages
began arriving for me two months
after he left:
“I miss you, baby” from Tahoe
and San Francisco,
free pens
taped inside cards from ski lodges
in Virginia and Michigan,
and a hand-blown glass sunfish
from Naples, Florida.

(It was clear, with
dots and ribbons
of colored glass
netted through it.
I put it on my bookshelf
and never looked at it)

Three months later, I made myself sick
on Halloween
so I wouldn’t have to see him.
When I called, he answered the phone
in a spoofy vampire voice
full of mischief & fun.
Then, his voice sobered
and I asked him if he was mad.
“No,” he said, “just disappointed.”

Back in my room, my vision
starred at the edges,
and I felt my tongue tingle
like it does before I puke.
Disappointed.
Disappointed.
Dis-appointed.
My father.

(There was a throbbing in the corner,
a noxious essence—
like the tiny radioactive ball bearing
a little boy finds in a junkyard,
and then carries
with pennies
in his pocket
until it kills him)

I don’t remember running out the door
or joining up with the thin, dog-path
into the woods.
But I do remember how my fingers curled
around the nodes of glass
perfectly.

I used the follow through
my dad taught me when I was nine,
and watched the sleek fish
somersault
through the old oak trees
until it collided with one,
and broke,
little shards lit & arching
like firework strands
across the wide autumn sky.

-Sabrina Renkar