My father hadn’t left us yet
but I have no memory
of him living there.
I remember cringing
when the neighbor’s dog
barked and snarled,
remember holding
a funeral for a sparrow,
burying it wrapped
in dandelions, remember
burning caterpillar nests,
bee stings, the linoleum
floor cold all summer.
I remember someone
broke into our house,
shards of glass on the steps,
my mother’s voice shaky
when she called 911.
We searched every room.
Only my father was missing.