my parents were back together
still cold to each other
in a home cobbled from
pieces of places I've been to
maybe once or twice
a log cabin
a friend's duplex
a farmhouse before fire tore through it
my dad was droning on
about something I didn't catch
I was outside with
a woman I didn't recognize
her name was Michelle
we pressed our foreheads together
and kissed on a dock
by an unlit lake, she asked me
"do you kiss everyone like that"
and I replied
"everyone who lets me"
her smile split the dark like a lighthouse
she spoke of her son
and the money she left for him
in a zip-up bag in the makeshift room in the stairwell
our room, a silk trompe l'oeil
of throw pillows and
fairy lights hung on the rafters
the bag was fastened by a small
lock that came with a journal I owned long ago
a two-number combination
eminently crackable
and then the money was long gone
and my parents were long gone
and Michelle was long gone
and daybreak came
a vaporwave gradient
revealing, on the lake
a floating wresting ring
two comically disparate figures
cut against the sun
there was a child
Michelle's
same radiant smile
same mischievous energy
pinballing off the ropes
and Andre the Giant was there
all seven foot four of him
resplendent, healthy
teaching this kid how to
take a bump, land a missile drop kick
the great man a human speedbag
I swam over and did not get wet
I hoisted myself onto the apron
to bask in the perfect sun
and admire the purity of the horseplay
and I pondered on the turnbuckle
as these figments of
my imagination roughhoused
that what separates pro wrestling
from street fighting
is grace