We unwound the 
tapes, stretching them 

around trees and whatever 
else was left standing.

Boot leg tracks and
conversations I recorded

from the AM radio. Preachers
that screech, gag; talks shows

where strangers commiserate 
abduction experiences.

Broad brown bands of VHS plastic,
my sister’s first birthday, tethered

to musty hollowed-out Pontiac
and an aluminum drum,

packed with the garbage
that was our life.

Ragged scotch tape covered plastic
divets on empty cassette cases.

We sectioned out squares where
our rooms once were,

and we did so in silence.