After father died

    the love was all through the house

    untamed and sometimes violent.

    When the dates came we went up to our rooms

    and mother entertained.

    Frank Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night，"

    the smell of Chanel No.5 in her hair and the laughter.

    We sat crouched¹ at the top of the stairs.

    In the morning we found mother asleep on the couch

    her hair messed， and the smell

    of stale liquor in the room.

    We knelt on the floor before her，

    one by one touched our fingers

    over the red flush in her face.

    The chipped sunlight through the shutters².

    It was a dark continent

    we and mother shared；

    it was sweet and lonesome，

    the wake men left in our house.