Earthscape artwork by Andres Amador
The Force of a Fifth, Plus 40
By the time I got back to Queens you had inhaled most of a fifth
of vodka and were curled up on the couch squawking in a
harpy voice I assumed belonged to the crazy "aunt" who
raised you, querulous almost-falsetto midwestern twang
whipping yourself raw.You had called me at work that afternoon,
sob-screaming that you'd lost your job, would never
get another, never mind that you were only twenty-
six or seven, good looking, well educated, tall, and
personable. (You wouldn't know about the autism
for decades.)Yes, I should have dragged you to the hospital,
but you did not want to go, and I felt guilty enough,
having vaguely considered an affair that night as I
stayed late drinking with my boss and talking about how you
got fired.Forty years later you probably don't know that
I dream of you at least once a week, that you come back,
that we are back together, that it doesn't last, it never lasts,
because love is not enough, you wanting to burrow
into home and family, me knowing we could arc the night sky.
