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.