She was seven when we stopped

using keys. One less thing to lose.

Now we punch a combination—

easy, but hopefully not so easy

a stranger could guess. This is where

I should stop. They are bound

to be angry—my beloveds.

I am giving away all our secrets

again. Such vulnerability

is the root of much fury….

I was small. One stone in our yard

hid a metal case with a lid

that slid like a matchbox top

to reveal our key. Lifting that

big brown rock, I’d think hard

of bashing someone’s head. Harm

always came dressed in the body

of a stranger. Sometimes, I wrestle

with my daughter—make her tiny

body work its way out from under

the weight I make of my own.

In this way I try to teach her

how it feels to break free.