The Discovery

One day, I don't remember which, you send us away.
For the first time we are banished to our rooms,
to think about, whatever we thought about then.
And you feed me an excuse, which I swallow,
like an oyster. New, unpleasant, unquestioned.

I remember a few times we were banished from our lives
but I did not question them, and three years beyond me,
my brother begins to form the question you dismiss and crush.
One day, I don't remember which, you bring us together.
You talk, in words I can't understand, about ideas.
This is not normality, it is not real.
Everything is wrong.

Daddy is home too early, you have been talking
in private, publicly. We can see irregularity,
but I am eleven; I don't understand.
You sit as a unit, Daddy in the chair, you
perched on the arm. You tell us you are separating.
We do not know it is you who is leaving.
Staged so well, it should be obvious.
You are perched on the arm, uncomfortable.
Daddy is sitting back, almost sinking
into the fabric of the suite we share.