My sister and I sat on her porch.
We drank tea and talked
about grandchildren, her
newest play, the ways of
white folks and
black folks, the song of
a bird in the yard and how
her plants have grown, how
wonderful this year’s garden will
be. Zeke came in with apple pie and
news of police cars and yellow tape
up at the Krogers up the street. Of a U
turn and a trip to the store in the other
direction. My sister googled;
a shooting in the produce department. Two
women argue, a male
companion shoots; the woman, alert,
identifies everybody on her way
to the hospital. We
shook our heads, vowing never to
return to that particular store and
ate our pie.
Woman shot today in south
west Atlanta Kroger.
A dispute with another
Officers were dispatched to the super
market just after noon.
Two women were
man pulled a gun and
The women knew each other,
The moon shone between
leafy branches as
we walked up the
hill to see the fallen tree.
This morning the green leaves, no
longer spring green, darker
and summer like, take up the space
where the sky showed last week.
Rain falls on the roof while I write. Outside
the open door, rain and the rustle of
leaves. There is no noise from the
swaying of tree trunks. Unless they
snap or pull up their shallow roots
and topple screaming to the ground.
When I was about five,
I thought after death, you
went into the nearest book.
My mother must have been reading
us Little House in the Big Woods
because that’s the book I made sure
was nearby at night. Just in case.
The things I use often, for everyday,
my mother’s rolling pin,
the little table my grandfather made.