to tiptoe

from the point

where the couch ended

and where the garage door 

began

our new wood floors

my father laid 

(he was so very angry that day

when I asked for a peanut butter

and jelly sandwich)

paid little 

attention

to my need for silence

I was so tiny 

I thought he wouldn't hear me

the guitar amps

high

and Steve's drum

beating me in 

monotone overlays 

Dad was right

they had none of

his

creativity 

but I listened anyway for 

his guitar 

strange strings

plucked and I thought

when I lost the tune

he would lose it too

but the guitar was just going 

other

places

I sat criss-cross 

applesauce

by the pale tan

doorway 

and the lock in gold

shone cleanly 

there was a hole cut in the

wall

near the tile floor

because he used 

to have a cat

and her litter tray 

was 

where his amps took over

and that cat is

gone

I could look 

through the hole

with vibrant

pink

insulation still sticking 

out

and see him playing

but somehow

he knew when I was there

and not in 

bed

and like many 

things

THAT made him angry

risking mind-

bruises 

I listened from the other

side 

of the garage door

anyway

and I still remember

his guitar was

blue