Grandma had no better plan than dying.
Summertime, between the first and second
evil years of high-school. Mom was crying
all summer long. A two week reckoning
with all her mothers purses, clothes, and shoes
fed to a bonfire in the old backyard,
where I was held a hostage and was stewed
in mom’s explosive mourning, love so hard –
I had no way or where to run away –
sister married off, dad fifteen-hundred
miles East guiding tacticians as they played
‘what if’ future battles. How, I wondered,
can anybody guess what comes tonight?
Life? Death? Or mama, itching for a fight?
~
Wurkz OfArt 