Dear Lionel

1

If you would just

send the sunshine through

the skylight of our breakfast nook, eat

your eggs slowly and let the yolks

harvest their seeds deep inside

your belly, open your mouth

and let the crops fall

out, into my hands--

then I will glue egg shells

to your cheeks and call you my little chicken.

2

After breakfast, we'll move

into the living room where the flag hangs

covering the fire place and we'll light

a fire behind it to honor ourselves, our

country, and all the illegal immigrants

we've so graciously welcomed

into our land of the free and the

money. When the flag goes up

in flames, we'll raise our arms and circle

around the Oriental rug together and don't

you forget this Lionel: we'll hold each other

there, for as long as it takes to beat this

thing down -- the questionable ideal

that we're going to be okay one day.

3

When our living room catches fire

with the flag,

your new sneakers

will melt into the rug,

but I won't leave you,

Lionel, I won't.

I'll hold you through this,

however it may end.