There is a thing
which sears her soul
and the pain of it
follows her through life
We gather each year
friends of sixty years
her laugh expands the walls
her smile as wide as the horizon
Each time we meet she cackles
about stingy neighbors
spits jokes of silly sister and brothers
did not marry, crazy loves her dog
Her speech sings inside giggles,
lives within this linguistic sureness
we laugh with her, love her tales
know she tries to seek ways
to wrench free from the terrible vision
I see her eighth-grade self, standing in front of class
reads a social study report she composed
dons the same J.C Penny’s red stretched-out sweater
navy plaid skirt hangs from her hips day after day
She waits for her dad on porch that evening
Her mom darns a wool sock
He spends evenings at corner bar
staggers home with lunch bucket open
Her mother calls to him
“We already ate.”
“You could have waited,” he slurs
a shot shrieks out
She screams like a belfry
rung by a madman, throws up
runs to her bleeding mother
her gaze goes deep into his angry eyes
emotionless, he digs the pistol into his temple
