birdhouse_in_your_soul
raze
there's
a
picture
opposite
me
of
my
primitive ancestry.
in
it
,
kevin
is
seated
at
the
upright
piano
while
sister
sarah
cradles
the
cello
she's
forgotten
how
to
play
.
matt
and
margaret
and
anna
and
katie
and
all
the
others
are
sitting
and
standing
and
singing
along
to
a
song
about
the
blue
canary
in
the
outlet
by
the
light
switch
who
watches
over
you
.
not
to
put
too
fine
a
point
on
it
,
but
i
had
a
nightlight
of
my
own
once
—
an
incandescent
custodian
in
the
guise
of
a
grinning ghoul.
i
can't
recall
its
fanged
face
offering
any
comfort
on
nights
when
i
hoped
for
a
comet
to
collapse
and
ignite
everything
in
sight
, sparing
me
the
indignity
of
another
day
spent
above
ground
.
it
never
wailed
the
way
these
people
do
.
it
never
told
me
anything
at
all
.
before
this
photograph
curls
and
coils
into
itself
,
abandoned
, ablaze,
let
me
hold
what's
left
of
the
memory
it
marks
on
the
desiccated
dorsum
of
my
untied
tongue
.
now
make
a
little
birdhouse
in
your
soul
.
260305
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from
