the house falls down and no one notices.
out back, the boys are drilling more holes,
hanging dry wall on thin air, making a ruckus,
painting in long careful strokes. the wind has changed,
but kept the same sound, presenting an illusion
of sameness. at the disaster site, jamie
dutifully powders her face: eye shadow, blush,
a swipe of mascara. she drops one rouged tissue,
which balances on the rim of an empty wastebasket
in slow motion. a ladybug appears on her shirtsleeve.
she whispers and it flies away home.