sickness led my brother downstairs to a blanket.  outside my mother was asking our mailbox if the man in the helicopter was alright.  my father snored in my brother’s bed while I kept from laughing in the tent beside it.  my sister brought a tub of snow inside to dig a baby from.  something my uncle said was like ******* a seashell.  he shuffled cards beneath a golden brain.  our ears heard the same god punching the extra pillow.