feminine, she cuts bread in the dark for my father’s meal.  I sit on a piano bench and play no piano one can hear.  my brother fears there is no soup under the dust he longs to blow on.  two miscarriages away from god leaving her alone, I am allowed to listen to a beautiful voice.  endearingly, I was a fat baby on a flat land.  the three of us are unified by the same vision of a wound our fingernails close.  the bowl has kept us from licking our palms.