[One]my mother was a therapist, my father a motivational guru; my older brother died under his comrades' guns in kuwait or south iraq in ninety-one, my sister handles snakes, has children, takes the occasional sleeping pill and bakes.
it's probably their fault first, of course, the mass of rage i am.
but then my righteousness itself also must have come of their collective ministrations, or is else a freak occurrence: golden delicious miraculously hanging among the undifferentiated bug-eaten fruit of the seed-grown apple tree.
we don't talk much nowadays: dad holding forth in a mocked up knock-off ashram on a rich friend's farm in some godforsaken dustbowl state; mom's manhattan practice and summers on the cape; and of course sister, in the sticks, near some scenic lakes, with children and snakes.
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