Juxtapose

My earliest memories are of the 
spackled designs 
strewn across our white stucco ceiling.

They were asterisks 
missing their middles,
or small explosions 
in a comic strip.

 I recall golden sunlight
thick as honey,
dripping down my windowsills
and walls,
pooling at my feet.

 I recall sitting in a large wicker basket
while my mother tended her garden 
nearby.
The basket was padded with pillows 
to protect me.

 I recall my father
slumped over himself,
folded in half like a lawn chair,
the contents of his Tervis Tumbler
soaking into the shag carpet 
of our sunken living room,
ice cubes slowly melting.

 I recall him sitting 
in that same scratchy recliner 
sobbing loudly to himself 
in the dark.

 I crept around the corner 
towards him
and asked him what was wrong.
He held me tightly for some time 
yet he gave no reason.