Dallas (Two Drafts)

Jedediah’s Trip to Dallas with His Girlfriend

            It’s a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think they can be happy without money.

                        ––Albert Camus

My brother couldn’t fit her family

into his rental car. A week of cramped air,

taking residence at the grandmother’s house. That fell

and broke her hip, that has brain tumors,

that allots her grandchildren five hundred

dollars each year for Christmas and Jed

a gift card to Starbucks. Back to the house:

a Spanish-Colonial style manor, four rooms,

as many baths, restored to original glory. Separated

parents require two rooms, the king-

sized bed is the grandmothers. The brother gets a twin,

the girlfriend, a queen. Jed is on the couch.

Back to the rental car: a pile of snow

on the roof, frozen glass. The family

doesn’t fit, they’re stuck

to the TV, watching a black-and-white movie

unfurl–– a happy family

rejecting the supremacy of money and pulling down

moons for one another. Jed reluctantly bought tickets

to the hockey game: Kings versus Stars.

Back to the moon, back to California: driving

their own cars. The tumors turn

cancerous, she dies. They never return

to Dallas, but send money for the funeral anyway.

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Jedediah’s Trip to Texas with His Girlfriend

            It’s a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think they can be happy without money.

                        ––Albert Camus

My brother couldn’t fit any more of her family

into his rental car. A week of compressed gravity,

taking residence at the grandmother’s. A malady

of brain tumors, but always retaining the pageantry

of Christmas, allotting her grandchildren seven hundred

dollars every year. The present of a funded drunkard,

 Jed gets a Starbucks gift card. The bigger Dallas tundra

surrounding the Colonial style haunted wonder:

four rooms, as many baths, not enough space. Separated

parents require two rooms, get one, leave bed serrated.

Grandmother’s on death bed. The brother, a twin. Frustrated

girlfriend, a queen. Jed, the couch. The rental car: faded

snow on the roof, frozen glass. The family doesn’t fit

so they are stuck; to the split-back couch, the TV, the film––

an old movie unfurling––the happy family

sitting around a Christmas tree, pulling down the moonlit

stars for one another. Jed reluctantly bought tickets

to a hockey game: Kings versus Stars. Back to the picture

of the moon, back to California: counting state limit

lines, chirps of crickets. The tumor turns cancerous, secrets

spill out from her radiated scalp, no one listening.

She dies, lessens the distance. With her body stiffening,

they choose to never return to Dallas, no visiting,

but send money for the funeral, her transitioning.