The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed

A stink bug flits beside my head, weightless
with the not knowing.
I wait until it stills and do what I think I have to.
My father is downstairs, yelling at nothing
and slinking off to the movies alone.
He returns to a Post-It on the front door
and the shiny toe of his dress shoe points him
to me, merciless compass.
I examine the spindly leg stuck to my wall
and silently count down the footsteps from
fourteen.

My brother will be the last to steal a glance at the
small man behind the curtain.
He is six and likes cooking and birds
and he isn’t quite what my father expected,
but no son could have been.
I thought of him in Mrs. Remmel’s class
when we read The Veldt.
I was certain then that my father would be eaten.
I know now when the veil falls,
it will be lion enough.