There is no such place as inconsolable, only surfacing the ground edge of a toilet, or counting the fibers in string cheese after a long nightly duel. I never believed you when you pointed out the spaces between my teeth, though I was quite skilled at eating. Not to be confused with eating gills happily. It was the year I became a vegetarian, and then changed my mind again. What was most surprising is your non-compliance never got to me. You had the arrogance of a sever-year-old undergrown.You liked to collect stones as a hobby. On a nightly basis I wished for a well to drown you in, mostly because of my affinity for veins and olive skin. It wasn't how you sang, in the voices of black men, about women and silver or your twenty-seven unrelated terms for marijuana. And it was not a casualty that you liked to move boxes. But that night, when I was almost panting at the small lights in the sky, and the policeman showed up with a flashlight and snot which didn't coincide with his misshapen form, I realized nothing would come of this, but waited, still, for you to ask about the stars. When would they reacquaint their shards with light? How would we arrive there? Instead you pondered the importance of insects, but I was never was too concerned with the air, the way it readjusts itself with you in it, so I have to rotate from sweater to skin. Nor the men, how they always came in threes, little armies of philosophers and digital combatants. It certainly was not your explanation of the cross-line in traffic, or your opinion of the color white. I waited sixty-eight weeks, and never received a bedtime story. Only the clicking in your mouth which wore out my vessels at night. And the deliberacy of your fallacies had never occurred to me until a few moments before I finished writing this sentence. It was not a hole in your pumping after all, put there by your mother when she started scream therapy, or ran naked with witches in front of you. All the ways you could form insults using "silver spoon," and it was never really about subway rides or my family's preference for bourbon. It was not about the holes growing in my pants, and what you chose to put there.