“It’s the one 
with the wood chipper. 
Blood red confetti 
on the snow covering 
the short-lived cabin’s 
lake-front backyard. 

It sprayed blood ten yards. 
You remember the one 
we saw at Dad’s cabin, 
the pregnant cop too chipper, 
speech completely covered 
with Norwegian confetti. 

‘Yah sure, you betcha’ confetti. 
It was like the Leech lake slanted yard 
with orange and red leaf cover, 
shore lined by wave-smoothed skipping stones. 
You screamed at the foot in the wood chipper 
kicking out of that dripping bin. 

Remember the lake cabin? 
Freeze tag on the crunchy leaf confetti 
parted by path of wood chips 
in that big backyard, 
then only a year later it was gone 
when Dad sold it to cover 

the type of lawyer a couple grand could cover. 
It was that rainy fall trip to the cabin, 
when we first found out Mom and Dad were done 
after years of marital counterfeiting. 
We slept in the tree house in the side yard 
and you had a nightmare about the wood chipper. 

The bloody wood chipper. 
You wouldn’t hide your eyes under the covers 
when Marge saw the yard’s 
snow melted red behind the cabin. 
Only days after Mom made wedding picture confetti 
when she thought she was alone.” 

But her confetti memories can’t uncover 
the cabin, the yard, the movie… 
you know, the one with the wood chipper.