After mother stopped taking her meds, she started having hallucinations: a couch shaped like a pair of lips, a sofa with sheep for arms, etc. She actually fainted at the sight of flowers blooming from an erection. Meanwhile, father adopted the motto, “Eat like a bird, drink like a fish.” On his advice I climbed out of the nest and into a diving suit. The last time I saw him he was talking in the hallway to our upstairs neighbor, Fat Nancy, with a decided edge to his voice. Her multiple chins were trembling. It’s something I think about when there is nothing else to think about.



Howie Good’s most recent poetry collection is Gunmetal Sky, available fromThirty West Publishing.