Who was it broke
the pickle dish—
cut-glass crystal
shattered on white tile?

I do remember how
her voice split
and cracked in half
mid-rage and hiding in the pantry
atop the highest shelf
back behind the games
we weren’t allowed to play.

First day of school
walk alone
scuff through fall
past the row of flats
next door and the old man, drunk
wavers on his stoop
calls out, Hey you
my pretty aren’t you
just the one

and every day
walk alone
circumvent the puddles
crush the sidewalk rime
in olive green galoshes
fly past that row
of flats next door
and the old man, drunk

he waits.

Laurie Mackie

Next: Masquerade

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