My brother's cries sounded
honey-dripped
and I remember my interim father walked around the house like
CRASH BOOM BANG
barricading our rooms like prisons or
crime scenes
and Mother, dear Mother at the wreckage
behind the yellow tape,
her cries sounded like
wine
and my stepsiblings, oh they whined
and he still walked around the house like
F*** G******** SHATTER
this family.

Music blaring, feasting on broken cookies like
CHOMP GUZZLE MUNCH like the
Last Supper
I leaned my head against the wall and listened to the
honey, the wine, the whines
until it became a symphony that my music could not drown out
A full orchestra.

There, my brother's cries were violins, slow and sweet
My mother's cries were an oboe, steady and deep
The ephemeral brother and sister were a
glockenspiel, gleeful in their woe
He himself was a contrabassoon,
calamitous, threatening, low.

And I, the lone harp
plucked my own strings like so
but he stepped on my pedals because he thought he could
change the key.