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who picked her up,
put her on his shoulders
to “see the world from way
up high,” just like he later
did for me. It was he who
put her on her feet
when she took a spill
off her bicycle, not
Grandpa Who’s-it in
Albuquerque. The story
goes it was Mom who
told her to leave home,
because she had turned
all our lives inside out
and we wanted them right
again. It was Mom who
said a sad but firm good-bye.
So why has it always
seemed to me that it
was Dad who so firmly
and irrevocably
closed the door behind her?
I REALIZE SUDDENLY
That Dad is waiting for me
to say something. Why did
I call again? Oh, yeah. Tickets.
“How long will Mom be in Vegas?”
Not sure, he says. The kids
need someone to take care
of them. That’s why she had to
