Late

they left the kitchen
in a crumble, disarray
his long shadow filled the yard
blowing steady smoke against the dewy green
until the phone rang
a startle

this same boot that kicked under sheets
last night - a nightmare
left tiny fires to the tar
and grumbled through the
back door in muddy trail

her hands, silent,
tightening around terrycloth
a hard wrench
the winter of her thought shaking
to cold worry
again, the ring through white stare

both Mother and Father
braced by four uneven legs
vacant dinner table
held long breath to hear

Mother imagined her
favorite peach to be caught
by uneven red light drama
on the drive home.

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November, 97
© Denise Angela Celeste