grandmas blue pick-up truck her
missing tooth and her
maple syrup scented aprons
with me in the back listening
to LeeAnn Rhymes and snapping my 25 cent
bubble gum to the rhythm of the radio, I
remember tying my shoelaces backwards, thinking
it was funny to trip over my own feet, watching
my grandmother's hands fall apart as she
chased me through the Cherry fields in
Door County, Wisconsin.  When I came
home to a flickering tv there was always
an oppressive silence from the kitchen floor like I had
just missed the third world war with my
mother's wedding ring on the kitchen table, my father's work
uniform neatly put away, my crayons
on the bathroom floor like abused bullet shells, I tried to
document the information but it had already been lived
three months before, I had only missed the final showdown
when two atom bombs refused to
explode.