It’s as if my parents were being driven naked
from the Garden by the Almighty himself,
the look of shame and guilt on their faces
is that convincing—and the fear of what awaits—

though when I visited my father’s gravesite
I didn’t think of this or any painting,
just the words he had carved in stone: Tank destroyer.
He was a WWII vet and in and out of hospitals

the rest of his life. Until he died after electroshock,
I didn’t know he was alive—I learned this from my mother
who hadn’t remarried yet when the VA notified her.

All I remember is watching her from the top
of my bunk bed (my brother was on the bottom)
running from room to room when she got the news.