of fear, how easy it eats awayat every yellow                                memorybut leaves the rot to last and last.Do you remember                 the sawdust smellof the garage? The woodencanvas the sizeof a radio            stuck with nails,how you were meant to drawwith the pluck and pullof rubber bands? The barrelof tadpoles? The wax blue bottomof the pool? The sole                 timemom oversleptand the morning was so                  silent                               you can hear it stillspread over us                     like a quilt?Can you hear her                still?Saying your name                like a death            sentence?Like an elegy                 for someone she hardly knew.