Carole King sang, “I Feel the Earth Move Under
My Feet.” Three Dog Night proclaimed “Joy to the World.”
The house shook and shook. I thought I’d dreamed it.
My father stopped coming home. Without him,
afternoons slid into evenings, unmarked. No longer
did everything in the house shift to make room for him.
The rectangle next to the door where he used to put
his briefcase. My mother’s cheek, unkissed.
I played the radio as long and as loud as I wanted.
My best friend stopped inviting me over to watch
Dark Shadows and eat frosted snack cakes,
both forbidden in my house. Even though her own
father had departed long ago. A place opened,
a spot beside my mother that I stepped into.
As the eldest child and only daughter,
I became a partner, a sister-wife, a listener. I felt
too old for sixth grade. The kids on our block
shied away from me, like frightened horses.
Every day, I hummed and spun. Janis wailed
about “nothin’ left to lose.” I didn’t know she’d
died before the song made it to my radio. I didn’t
know those words were some of the oldest ever sung.