Even so, Allison draws the faces
of dead presidents and Margaret a tree, again,
then climbs it, still wearing her socks.
Her mother is shouting up from the ground.
Her mother is always shouting up from the ground.
Curtis burns circles into everything, all that
hard doggy light, all that howling.
In this way we resemble jellyfish.
In this way we resemble the French
who do not speak easily of joy,
preferring it was not terrible.
By the end Cezanne took all the people
out of the painting, which has to be a cure
for something. I still dream of the goat
who leaned closer to try
my red toenails.
I will not draw anything today.
I will pick up something sweet
and eat it.