the morning after,
there was
blood
on the rug, broken glass,
a hole
the size of a man's fist
in the wall.
the phone cord was cut,
the door
broken
open, the knob and latch
on the floor.
a whiskey bottle
turned over,
still dripping tears
of amber.
my mother,
back from the emergency
room
with her glasses held
together
with medical tape,
five months
pregnant,
held her arm out with
a new
cast on, which we all stood
in line to sign.
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