She took the spareribs out of the oven
and set them steaming on a plate
before leaving her apartment.
I didn't know how long to wait,
tore into cold meat when I decided
my mother wasn't coming back.
No one knew about the gun she kept
in her purse until the authorities
called—a .38 caliber pistol
Friday, April 24, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: silence