Ars Poetica

When the car ran into the boy, he turned into a goat with two heads and fled into the hills, so we could not wander far. My brother pointed to the bushes stirring— There, he said. Do you see it? We sipped Pepsi from small paper cups and napped on the floor until the windows dimmed. Guests came for dinner—silver, fine china, a cup of tea, a slice of cake. Our neighbor sang Strauss. Her hands came down on the piano keys as if she meant to hurt them. Her voice became the room, a spoon trembling on the edge of a saucer. Everyone remained composed. I could feel myself cracking like a clay pot. When I broke, I held both hands over my mouth, but my voice came rushing out, a great sob that sounded like laughter. I laughed so hard, I couldn't breathe.