Marriage

Because it's the one his mother sold

at the garage sale. You ate popcorn

on Dad's lap as he watched

the game, wolfed back half

the cherry cake. Because she used to be

so thin.

It was where he would live

when space travel was perfected,

the one his brother bought

with the souped-up engine. Because

he's better at lying

than telling the truth.

You hid in the closet

where your mother hung

her old dresses, the one's she wore

before she was pregnant. Smelt like her

sweet perfume and dark chocolate.

Because it has a definition

for everything. Because it's easier to climb up

than down.