tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11489194419324247262011-09-04T23:07:49.517-07:00Christina Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06687116694729397499noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1148919441932424726.post-54620849637161049672011-09-01T23:42:00.001-07:002011-09-01T23:42:27.729-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />How Many Times<br /><br />Marie Howe<br /><br />No matter how many times I try I can't stop my father<br />from walking into my sister's room<br /><br />and I can't see any better, leaning from here to look<br />in his eyes. It's dark in the hall<br /><br />and everyone's sleeping. This is the past<br />where everything is perfect already and nothing changes,<br /><br />where the water glass falls to the bathroom floor<br />and bounces once before breaking.<br /><br />Nothing. Not the small sound my sister makes, turning<br />over, not the thump of the dog's tail<br /><br />when he opens one eye to see him stumbling back to bed<br />still drunk, a little bewildered.<br /><br />This is exactly as I knew it would be.<br />And if I whisper her name, hissing a warning,<br /><br />I've been doing that for years now, and still the dog<br />startles and growls until he sees<br /><br />it's our father, and still the door opens, and she<br />makes that small oh turning over.<br /><div><br /></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1148919441932424726-5462084963716104967?l=bp411.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Christina Jayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06687116694729397499noreply@blogger.com0