I watch from the porch

I watch from the porch as he laughs indoors. Almost night--lies don't count in the dark. The dog catches flies in the light from the kitchen with broken teeth; I catch only what I can--sometimes, rare fireflies in the jar he dropped and nearly broke last year. Tonight, I catch my breath, and I catch his words when clear and desperate. Some are lucky enough to not be careless, not to be netted by the screen in the door, carried by whatever impulse carried me. I haven't swept this threshold in four angry weeks of almost night, and he hasn't left his room. But he's laughed.