Family of Origin

One of us took the phone off the hook and poked a pencil in a finger hole, 

to deflect incoming calls, that we might sup in quiet if not peace, the garden full of guardrails resisted frequent rain.

The question remained how to decipher wilderness from purported civilization

in which Ward and June Cleaver held their knives and forks and spooned invisibly in one twin bed to another 

quite in passing. Love itself became a projection shaped like puppetry against blue-white walls like tires on a comfortable sedan driving us through ages we co-occupied.