home videos

i remember stuffing that rabbit,
thinking how much it must have hurt,
the tube tearing into its belly,
my foot pressing the pedal hard.

i didn’t notice how many classmates were there.
they all showed up—for me.
maybe their parents told them to,
but still,
they came for me.
how lucky i was
to have had such a birthday.

my sister and i sang and danced.
she bossed me around,
but i didn’t seem to mind.
we laughed, we learned,
we drew with chalk.

when did we start to hate each other again?

i see joy in grandma’s eyes:
at my christening,
at birthdays,
in summer,
at her house,
at ours,
with bagels,
with elmo.

i remember what wasn’t on video:
my parents yelling
while i played with dolls in my room.
my father outside the window,
telling grandma about my depression.
i was mortified.
i wanted her to see me as happy,
because she made me happy.

now that she’s gone,
i wonder who she remembers—
the joyful pianist, singer, rabbit-builder,
or the one who slipped
into the dark.

i turn the video back on:
endless toys,
endless yards to run in,
endless laughter,
endless love.
this is what i want to remember.