For so many years you have been coddling this fear,
That while at school being the model student
Bad news would come inevitably: Your father was shot in a rally by an unknown gunman. It was a clean shot. He was DOA.
You fear this news would someday come when you are busy, when you have to be resolute and leave grief for later. You fear the news most when you are too happy. In midlaughter you worry: When will the blow come?
For so many years you have been coddling this fear,
Waiting for the world to knock you senseless, to irrevocably shatter you.
For so many years you have been coddling this fear,
Someone saying: Two suspicious men came by to see your mother in the apartment where she lives alone. They roughed her up a little, left a few threats, a broken bone (what is a broken bone?).
Higher, greater powers sending their minions, their hired hands skilled
In the art of hurt and taking lives
Against your mother, your very strong
Mother, but still, only a woman alone.
For so many years you have been coddling this fear,
For so many years
and many years more.
