sorting through your garbage, in search of aluminum
cans and credit cards. The man who jumped
in front of your car and the man who thought
he had pushed him. The jealous husband. Clarence Thomas’
first wife. The minister who built harpsichords
and molested you, again and again. The mother who cannot
taste her milk. Your grandmother’s image of herself.
Sammy Davis, Jr. Your children. The children you knew
would die as sacrifice. The man who wears headphones
and operates the ride. The child running into the fire,
for protection. The reprieved. The stoic who embraces
his weakness. The woman you swear you have become.