For this. I still have time
for a song,
Don’t cry out loud.
That angry spittle and spite and spilled beer
truly her tragedy. When she crashed
in, eyes blazing, hands ready
to wreck my peace. She upended my particle
board dresser, my bookcase, my sleep.
My broken fairy now sits
on my mantle. Her fingers have been lost
to time. Maybe my mother
took them with my voice and trust.
$2 on the counter. I’ve said it before
and I’ll say it again—- always take the money.