we were vulnerable that summer after my mom's surgery and before she married no name.
houses of yellow too close to freeway walls were targets
of the walk-in killer
(that's what he was called
by the brunette news lady
and her side kick who looked like jackie chan).
i hid under my bed, my brother safely tucked under one arm,
my mom holding one crutch,
me half sleeping with the other
under my second arm.
i was not about to fall asleep while that man wandered
hurting ladies and cutting them up,
so i stayed awake
until they both fell asleep,
and then when i couldn't fight it any longer, i controlled my dreams,
telling myself what to
letting them in to twist my insides
and scatter my nerves.
i wonder if that's what's happening now,
of the rattle and
the breaking of dawn.
my house was the color of wood,
a few steps in the front where
my first dog was buried and our
cat who was hit by a car,
our only protection from the
after he was caught, he still haunted
i tried to forget
we moved away
and i was able to remember other things
until another bad guy
took his pace.