on her fiftieth birthday our alleged mother hires a driver to remain parked outside an abandoned warehouse. she promises to pay the driver extra if he sees more than two stray beasts and promises further employment if he consciously brings the uglier of the two or more home to his children. we hear offhandedly these things and others
as if we are hidden inside a very large cake.
the driver is an hour deep into the assignment when he notices a barefoot woman flat on her belly scooting across a puddle of oil near the warehouse entrance. the woman is swallowed by the puddle before the driver can call to her or commit her outfit to memory. he says aloud she was feral and her breasts had to be, by then, bleeding. it’s christmas morning when the driver comes to and his wife’s sister has this look like she could suck the red from a childhood firehouse. his kids are crying over invisible toys. invisible because our mother touches the future without looking.