Younger

From this side of the front door i

Hear a giant chewing at the end of a pen.

Gravel crunches it's small grating

Gunshots along the walkway, and from

The kitchen window i see the tops of

Patent heels spark in the lights along the

Sidewalk.

Outside the sky looks like the inside

Of a closed fist.

An angel laughs-- but it is better than

An angel! It is my mother.

From my shy stance, sprawled,

Red rain-boots tucked beneath my legs

On the kitchen linoleum i smell

The ice-clouts and her mink-fur coat,

Her god-smile greets me with the

Reassuring scent of animal death.

I press my small face to her legs and she

Suffocates me smoothly in black fur. she hides

My tiny torso in the bulge of her coat, for

This is what family means in the presence of

Terror or love.

I breathe deeply frozen fur and count her

Rib bones with my fingers. I realize that you

Are more fragile than I, and so i must inflexibly exist.

I exist in case

You need to be protected.