My mom was late that
night. Ham, corn,
potatoes au gratin; milk,
bread, applesauce; good
china, silver flatware.
(An empty place setting.)
Even at twelve I had
an awful sense that
something bad was
happening; I didn’t have
the language for it. I
heard my dad through
his lips, pulled
straight: “Who were you
with?” That heavy question.
Like the green, still sky
before a tornado. I didn’t
know where to take shelter.
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