I knew a woman who buttered her cookies.
She raised a son. Who was really her grandson.
Who didn’t know where she kept the dishes.
He beat me.
Years later I was sweeping and listening to the radio.
The newscast said he was murdered. In his bed.
I froze. Shocked
After his funeral I went to her house to collect my remaining belongings.
I wasnt allowed inside. My things thrown at me on the lawn. At me.
The children from the neighborhood gathered around.
Arms folded across my knees, head down
They said everything would be all right.