HangOvers

what would I be doing at 8:49
the morning after?

would I be searching google,
picking up broken crayons,
plastic cups, mac and cheese
from the carpet, or . . .

what?

what would I be doing
after she told me: /20 years ago/
/incest taboo/
and the reconciliation between her
and the grandmother . . .

brought to my face,
after having discussed the tropes
of shame and silence,
the myth that it only happens in
lower-class families,
brought to my face
only the night before by some text book?

I must believe the fibers
of my being are woven~
meaningful beyond my understanding~
why else would I read
and teach
so much of what I live?