mashed potatoes and kale cooked with so much garlic
and olive oil, I go back for seconds and almost forget
it’s a vegetable.
There’s Daddy making Mama sit on his lap.
The two of them laughing
as the speakers blast Earth, Wind & Fire
all through the house, until the guy sings about
chasing the clouds away
and Daddy jumps up, still holding
Mama, and makes her dance with him.
They do old-people moves that look like they’re dancing to the words, not the music, but I can’t help dancing too
and from outside
or from somewhere far away maybe it looks
crazy and beautiful,
the house with the lights dimmed to gold and
the three of us moving through that light,
chasing the clouds away.
Migraine
Monday afternoon after school, I eat ten cookies standing at the sink,
wash it all down with one glass of milk and three glasses of water, run
to the bathroom because all that water goes right through me, come back
to the kitchen and microwave a beef patty. So hungry, I feel like I
could keep on eating, singing the song we learned in
chorus that day.
We come from the mountain,
living on the mountain.
Go back to the mountain,
turn the world around.
Me and Ollie laughed
the first time we sang it because the chorus teacher said
Ollie, you have such a beautiful alto voice!
and it’s kinda weird
when teachers compliment you
with words like beautiful. So Ollie started singing
in a high-pitched super-alto that made everyone laugh.
Except the teacher. She had to stop
the class to tell us why
the song was important
blah, blah, blah.
But now the song is in my head and I’m remembering
how nice it sounded when the
sopranos came in over the tenors and the basses
and the beautiful altos picked it all up.
I am singing when Mom tiptoes down the stairs,
tells me to stop singing so loud.
Your dad has a migraine, she says.
Another headache? I ask.
Mom nods. Takes the eleventh cookie out of my hand, says
Save room for dinner.
But I’m not hungry anymore. I’m scared.
My daddy was a mountain, a football star,
223 pounds of tight end.
My daddy was the world.
I want to go back to the mountain and
turn the world around.
Repetition
Even in songs, the lines keep repeating
and it’s okay. The chorus comes back around
like it’s making sure you understand
how important it is to the song’s story.
So how come when my dad repeats himself
it’s such a big deal? How come people
have to look at him all weird? How come
my mom has to say to him
Zachariah, you okay? You want to lie down awhile?
How come he has to look so confused and mad about it?
And yell I’m not crazy!?
How come it feels so scary?
How come it feels so scary?
Tests
The sun is bright on the morning
my mom tells me she’s taking Daddy
to the doctor for some tests.
It’s a Tuesday and I’m putting my lunch together
peanut butter and banana sandwich,
apple, fruit snacks, cookies.
My mom takes the cookies out, says After school.
When she turns her back,
I put them in my bag again.
What kind of tests?
For the headaches. She looks out the kitchen window.
And the memory stuff.
Guess they want to rule out dementia. I don’t know.
There’s a cardinal at the bird feeder,
then a sparrow comes and a yellow warbler.
When I was a little kid, I used to say What’s that and What’s that
and What’s that and my dad would tell me
the names of the birds.
When I asked him if they would survive
the winter, he’d always say
Of course they will. Mother Nature’s got their backs.
Now I want to ask again, say What’s that
only not about birds this time.
What I really want to ask is
Are the doctors gonna make him better?
and hear my mother say
Of course, ZJ. Mother Nature’s got his back.
The Trees
Maple’s what we call the oak tree in front of the house.
It was Dad who decided to call an oak tree Maple.
There’s another one—a birch he named Sweet Pine.
And out past the garage is a crab apple tree.
He wanted to call it Peaches but I said Nah, Daddy.
Let’s just call that one Crabby.
And in winter, when Crabby’s branches are getting beat
down by a cold wind,
I wonder if she’s upset no one
covered her up with a tree blanket.
It was me who decided Crabby and Maple and Sweet Pine were girls.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because of that book we used to read you,
my daddy said.
The one about the tree that keeps giving up
everything she has.
But I shook my head. I’d never want a tree to do that.
I’d never ask that of anything. Or anybody.
Daddy has to stop playing football until the doctors know
what’s going on with his head.