I did log on to a Web site for teens

whose parents had died,

but it didn’t help.

I tried to find one for dead brothers and sisters,

but I only got locked out by this thing

Daddy put on it for my protection.

Now I sit, facing the wall,

while Mommy calls out Danny’s name,

as if he can answer.

Maybe it’s a game she’s playing

like the one she plays with me,

the one I pretend not to see.

Maybe Danny’s only playing dead too

and there’s no gash in his head,

where he was struck hard

with a glass decanter that shattered,

leaving splatters on the walls and carpet

and a trail of red down the hall

that I followed to find Mommy

lying on her back,

glass embedded in her hands.

When Daddy came home from work,

they locked me in my room

and when I came out,

everything was different

and smelled of disinfectant

and Mommy wasn’t anywhere

and Danny simply wasn’t there—

no clothes, no toys,

no awful smell of boy remained.

Ethel said our apartment was like a tomb

and turned on the TV, opened the curtains

and told me to make all the noise I wanted,

but after Mommy came back

I had to keep quiet.

I couldn’t even chew cornflakes too loudly,

so I’d hold them in my mouth,

until the milk softened them,

then I’d swallow.

Sometimes I’d gag

and Mommy would send me to my room

where I would sit

until I learned not to disobey.

Today, she made me pray for forgiveness,

but I don’t know why.

I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?

I asked and thew my glass of orange juice.

It smashed against the refrigerator.

One piece stuck in my hand

when I tried to remove it from my hair.

After I started to cry, Mommy did too,

then she said, “It’s not you, not you.”

Everything was fine,

until Daddy had to drag her away from my bed.

“Your mother’s tired,” was all he said.

The next day, she was gone again.

Ethel was back

and I decided maybe I should pray,

so I knelt in front of my dolls and Teddy

and confessed my sin,

because I was ready.

They told me they always knew the truth.

I can’t hide anything from them.

I tried and failed and Mommy knows too,

but she’ll never tell.

Cross my heart and hope to die

I never will either.

INTERCOURSE

for John Kennedy, Jr.

The water is a cold fire I swallow,

thinking it tastes like blood,

as I rise to the surface.

I’m saved, I think, as my head

emerges from the waves,

then everything disappears in a gray haze

that smells of smoke and sizzling flesh.

I choke, spit out bits of bone.

I’m surprised to see a mermaid