the man of the house says the devil sleeps backward.  says they share a barber.  two women walk into a joke and are asked to serve communion.  my father told so few stories that each retained its beginning.  I held my tongue like a meeting.  I conspired with my brothers to dim the lights so we could see the eggs leave the refrigerator and then see the eggs leap into our front yard.  we were saved from what the eggs became by a person who belonged to a group of people.  the lights did not return for so long the whole town feared they would.  my mother hung posters but could not have known this was the start of staying home.  I can’t speak for everyone but we were able to get online and order supplies and make a hobby of waiting for them to be delivered.  to this day, tomorrow is a new object and I’m what’s foreign.