I’m stuck inside donut spins in a parking lot that isn’t there anymore. It’s a teenage car there’s beer I’m twelve and my cousin is bleeding and my cousin has tits and the bridge is a yawn over snakes and mud. The town is the most real and continual fact of my life it is not a fiction it is not a memory I am living it still and I don’t know what to call this other than rewind. The grandfather is alive and working the father is in another state the mother is decorating a house made of eyes and Cyndi Lauper provides candy scream and we are all trying too hard to prove our glee. I can’t stop muttering FUCK YOU at the television. Something is wrong with the remote control. I can’t get out of this reality fast enough. It’s late and presents are expected and I’m still stiff in petticoats but the air is thicker than blood and this tree is filled with skeletons and I don’t know these bones and I won’t name this horror because it is still happening and the eyes are watching and the mouths are filled with teeth sharper than the knives I carry. The carnival collapsed on me small as I was a cipher really all I could manage was the cry for Mother the cry that echoes to stone reception. This town has a latitude and a longitude and no one who knows anything goes there. Mars is bigger a healthier salad people fork delight past lips curved shinier than the secrets such pebbles so much grit in my dumb waif shoes. Some other sister who is not mine is driving in on Thursday and there will be a quick galaxy of cake. The serving is the easy part.