I try to remind my little sister of the time we watched Fargo

“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 a 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.