we whiz along, or grind
jaws tight with effort
to be good and right and
happy
until we explode—
all the mess to clear up
exhausted
screaming and crying and chaos and blood
nearly always
the loom of news vans
we are no more than animals
we fear
while juncos hop along the brick
cat-scattered
squirrel descends fence
walnut bigger than its head
tight in its teeth
When you were in the hospital
I went looking for something
in your dark cluttered room—
you wanted your calendar—
and found my last custard cup
full of coins and old batteries
on your nightstand and knew
you had never asked to use it
but just pulled it from the shelf
as if you had right to anything
since we’d let you into our home
perhaps; but I took the dish back
gave you an old butter tub in its place
and yes I felt small but had I not
felt small all the time
take your anger in both hands
and accuse them
what need of proof
beyond power
in this boiling
if you believe
all these cries will force God
to look, all this shrieking
will bring down
the devil
Graceful Press Poetry 