Part One

Ethel, you wouldn’t believe it,

I don’t even need your binoculars to see
The buffalo’s horns,
And the bear’s teeth.

But your binoculars can’t see
Through mountains
And concrete dams
To our Saturday morning visits
With hissing cats and white washed walls

And your eyes can’t see
Through hanging laundry
And power lines
To my morning visits with
Trumpeting elk and white water rafts

When I come home and tell you,
I won’t be whole anymore

Part Two

I went home

Not to our house
To our home

But it was gone
Nobody noticed

Playgrounds turned patios
Beaches turned deserts

But they were gone
And nobody noticed

Girl turned woman
Boy turned sailor

And Alex, nobody noticed
That we were gone