Some days he seems just like that tree.
Like he’s not his whole self anymore. Like one by one
somebody or something
took his branches.
Daydreams
In class, from somewhere far away
I hear
someone calling my name.
I mean, I only sort of hear it
because I’m not really there.
Outside the classroom window, the sky
goes on and on and on, and
I’m wondering what happens beyond it.
Is that heaven up there?
And all the people
who left us, are they really walking around
and looking down? And if they are—
what do they see?
What do they know about stuff?
Last night I found my mom outside
standing on the deck, looking up at the sky.
Are you counting stars? I asked.
No, she said. I’m looking for God.
If anyone has any answers, I guess God would.
ZJ, can you hear me?!
I jump in my seat, look toward the front of the room,
where my teacher is staring at me.
Welcome back from the World of Daydreams, she says.
So glad to have you with us.
Says Those fractions up on the board
aren’t going anywhere—they’re just waiting for you to
divide them.
Middle of the Night
Down the hall I can hear my daddy moaning, saying
My head. My head, Lisa. It hurts so bad. Hurts
so bad.
Then hear my mother going downstairs.
I get out of bed, tiptoe down behind her,
the house cold and me
in just pajamas and no robe.
The kitchen tile freezing my feet.
Is Daddy gonna be okay? I ask,
and my mama jumps, says
ZJ! You scared me into next week.
Look at me standing there in Tuesday.
Stop playing, Mama, but like always, she makes me smile
a little.
Is he?
Mama turns back to the sink, fills the kettle with water,
puts it on the stove.
Of course, she says.
Your dad’s going to be fine.
But she doesn’t look at me. Then she does,
and reaches to hug me.
I don’t know, ZJ. I really don’t.
I whisper into her arm I’m scared.
Me too, she whispers back, then kisses the top of my head.
We stay like that.
Upstairs my daddy moans and moans.
And soon the teakettle joins him.
And Then There’s the Morning
There’s a song I wrote that starts that way.
It goes,
And then there’s the morning
when my cereal’s cold
and the new day feels old
and I’m missing my stuffed animals
because I’m too big, I’m told.
And then there’s the morning
where my shoes feel too small
but seems I’ll never get tall
want to run away from it all.
And then there’s the morning.
And then there’s the morning.
After I sing And then there’s the morning the final time
I play a riff on my guitar, kinda slow, blues—like
I’m real deep in thought around all the things
I’m worrying about.
And then there’s the morning
when the sun comes out again
I have boys I call friends
know the bad times will one day end.
Can’t wait for that morning.
I can’t wait . . .
for that morning.
Prayer
Right after I come into the house, I take off my shoes,
walk into the kitchen for a glass of milk
and a candy bar. I hear
Daddy’s bare feet on the stairs,
walking right on by without even asking
How was your day, little man?
Hear his bedroom door slam.
Want to run up the stairs after him
want to grab him, say
Dad, come back down. Hug me.
Ask me about my day,
like you used to.
Then Mom is in the kitchen,
getting her afternoon coffee, the pot
bubbling while we sit silently eating tiny pieces
of candy to make the sweetness last.
She only eats candy bars
when she’s worrying. Chocolate, she says,
helps me think.
Tell me something, I finally say.
Tell me what’s happening with Dad.
Outside, a whole flock of sparrows
cry out as they fly away, the sounds they make
fading before my mom says
More doctors. More “It could be this, it could be that.”
I ask her Aren’t doctors supposed
to be able to figure it out? And if they can’t, then
how are they going to fix him?
He’s not broken, ZJ, my mom says back.
He’s just not himself right now.
When’s he gonna play ball again?
They don’t know.
When will his head stop hurting?
They don’t know.
When’s he gonna be himself again?
They don’t know.
I want to scream What do they know?!
But my mom is sipping her coffee.
One sugar, a little milk.
The birds have all flown off somewhere.
The kitchen is quiet as a prayer.
When I look at my mom again, her eyes are closed