Inventing scenes that never happened

playing with reality like a cubist painter

altering it like a dress maker

              the soft ease of a mother’s shoulder

              first prize in middle school math

              

white washing disappointments 

              and the tyrannies of despair

no point in suffering a second time

 

Splicing and scouring

deleting and embellishing

leaving moments on the cutting floor

              an uncle’s midnight hands

              the hiss of a father’s belt

inventing others to explain the fear of pigeons

the compulsion to stutter step 

              no need to sort through dumpsters 

              of the past for soggy explanations

 

Memory circles back and back, returning

wearing a different coat

              a wool one, not a leather one

              a parka, not a puffer jacket

creating past futures

              unreal as the moon’s borrowed light

              a reflection of a reflection

clock hands spin wildly

              memories circling like black crows

              hieroglyphs in a winter sky

then settling on the grass in Central Park

nibbling insects and seeds

              proof of possibility