The problem, if there was one, was simply a problem with the question. This went on for a long time.Ī man saw a bird and wanted to paint it. Sometimes the man felt like the bird and sometimes the man felt like a stone-solid, inevitable-but mostly he felt like a bird, or that there was a bird inside him, or that something inside him was like a bird fluttering. The bird had a song inside him, and feathers. The dead will make room for me.Ī man saw a bird and found him beautiful. Their names remain on the deed to the house. These things are complicated, says the Health Department. These things are complicated, says the Talmud. When the man who was not my father divorced my mother, I stopped being related to him. At the reception, after his funeral, I got mean on four cups of Lime Sherbet Punch. My father was buried down the road, in a box his other son selected, the ashes of his third wife in a brass urn that he will hold in the crook of his arm forever. Eventually, he was forced to divorce her. When he said this, she would stub out a cigarette, mutter something under her breath. Phyllis, he would say, If you don’t stop buying jewelry, I will have to divorce you to keep us out of the poorhouse. My mother married a man who divorced her for money.
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