A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.

Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.

Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.

Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.

My wife slumbered on our couch,

And wind blew a kite out of my hands.

                                                

I fed a goat nectar from my hands.

A crowd encircled the trampoline.

My family purchased a new couch,

And later that day we helplessly cried.

Our wailing could not be heard across the river,

Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.



Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.

I looked down at my blood stained hands,

Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.

My red elephant broke the trampoline

And we were surrounded by infinite crying.

Nobody sat on the new couch.



Many problems arrived with the new couch;

There weren’t any more barbecues,

And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.

Silky fabric embraced my hands.

Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.

She was buried across the river.



Some guy drank all the water from the river,

And started living on our couch.

Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,

And who would have thought I took up barbecues.

Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand

And I no longer cried.



Only the winter wind cried,

Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.

I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,

Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.

I bored my wife with barbecues

So she went to jump on they trampoline.



Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.

No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.

I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.

Tonight we’re aligned with the stars
I’m wearing Orion’s belt
You’re drinking in thirsty gulps from the big dipper
The little one’s in freckles on your chest
And now I can hear the wind chimes
On the porch
I can hear the leaves
Of the Bradford Pear
I can hear the cats and dogs and coyotes and deer and owls
Making nighttime noises
I can hear mom snoring in the house
For one of the last times
I can hear the trampoline springs creaking with age
And feel it bouncing and swaying under us
Like it did in its heyday
I can hear you sniffling, sister,
I can hear you crying
Your warm wet tears
Are drowning my ears
Like all those summers we did swim team
When I take your hand
It’s smaller than I remember
It’s Abby circa ‘99
Though you didn’t let me hold it then
And I never tried
Now our hair is curling in swirling halos
Around the same face
Mom’s face
We never did look like Dad
Now we’re gazing at the same stars
Under the same March sky
Thinking, saying, “God is good”
Saying, believing, “How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
Believing, knowing, that it’s true
Even while our hearts are rocks,
Our hands are clay,
Our minds are swarming
Teeming
Buzzing
Hives
But “God is good”
“How can He not be?
When the sky looks like this”
When our mother is a fish
How can He not be?
We know:
“God is good.”
While we’re reading the Braille of the sky
Two foxes slink by
Now we dismount the trampoline and go inside
Where we hear Mom snoring
For one of the last times