The Man With His Back To The Room

This Is A Story Someone Is Trying To Remember

If I can, I will tell you of the deer dying in the yard & starved pullets that wander in circles in the snow &

how I need to find the place they scattered my father’s bones & to hear my mother’s final words.

If I ever can,

I will tell you again of my need to caress my first wife & not be thinking, ‘ Would Gloria take me back as I was.’

When I remember,

I might tell you volumes of lies that disguise faces & florid afternoons with wine & sesame cakes & visits from . . . but

chances are slim & the train will leave soon & before I go I wish you well &

warn you of the blizzard that will come in the night (as it will) & the family that eroded as some do &

the marriage that was doomed & the evil that kids do to one another &

if you remember to tell this story as it was told,

I will send you a letter with a number & a key & when you find what you are looking for

maybe you will remember me.