i.

little

girls should not

make their beds in

domestic violence

shelters. my day begins.

 

hostage

to teenage angst and

true crises, bullets blast through

communities, the aftershock a ripple

effect reaching into everyone’s finances.

 

you’d think

it was all about

thugs and suicidal watches but its

those close calls, those near falls that

really keep you on edge.

 

ii.

little

boy unsure if its girls

he likes hides behind stalls

peaking through walls and

wondering wouldn’t that be nice.

 

its my job

to catch them all, to

see them long before they fall.

try as i might

most are out of my sight .

 

iii.

little

girls sneaking first scissors,

then razors and finally staples and

pushpins onto stairwells deepening

fine lines into skin. marred she

adorns long sleeve wool sweaters under

polos bright and cries out loud

when asked why.

 

i want to

catch them all.

 

iv.

little

boys leave by side doors

in record breaking down pour

believing no one will notice.

when found he is more than

3 miles from where he started. he cried

and he cried and told me 20 lies till finally

the truth won out. he was looking for his

brother, birthed by another mother, believing

in him some truth from their father’s lies

lingered.

 

i am neither

savior nor martyr just

one woman turned mother

praying for others and filling

cracks gone slack in walls

unsound. imploring dear god help

me keep this thing off the ground.

 

in these moments

i think i’ll crack, i look to

heaven and know no matter

what he’s got all our backs.

 

and so i write (wouldn’t you).