you will be conscious of an absence , precisely
like a flower that blooms during autumn
a flower which perishes , soil even rotten
near the family home’s porch
a tree — cypress tree bordering a lakeside — with
its branches thinning ; and a cloudless sky cuddling
such tempestuous weather
it is all within illusion , an utter lack of attention
to make pancakes with butter and strawberry shake
standing alone in the middle of my mother’s green-tiled kitchen
purple lemonade , taking sips as i stand
my ground for a heavy chime
father then calling , asking for a time — books , phase , stint and measure
smashing telephones , an uncanny feeling of being followed
father is not at all bad , yet i cannot let him in
to ruin another family dinner
asking for an ice , fans and plastics
we have around at home
for after futile sayings , he did not pay for it
no one would have to
as it is exorbitant , a life’s compelling basics
here at the warm village i live in