afte...

after dinner my father does not push in his chair. this lack of action does nothing to me, besides provide a distraction to the naked trees and snow outside. visiting a house that i spent so little time in reminded me of the great grandmother i barely knew. my only sibling was married this summer. though we live in the same city, we continue to reside on opposite sides of the canal. i've consciously done math in my mind to remember their names. they're fading, and with growing distance they become more like photographs and less like portraits. by three a.m. i cannot count the footsteps they've taken, the tears freeze when they touch air at this time of year. sometime ago i unknowingly became a passenger. and now, i have lost all bearing because constellations in the city cease to exist.