on the cracked pave of the drive
outside her pains
she realized a pause
to collect her scattered angers
from the porch
and from the yard
and from the freshly graveled road
away from what her way meant
she could find her daughter
(thirty-five years hers)
crying behind the wheel of that again stuffed truck
waiting, between sobs, for the parking words
and she could indeed say them
(lips crusted with hate)
those words that ached right within her...
but she didn't (gathered angers clenched, trembling fists)
instead, familiar tires cracked and popped
under weight
and over the freshly graveled road
glances were taken
like the key
and the dog barked
until the tail-lights faded
into scarred and obscuring memory
and she held her angers
like loved ones
on the cracked pave of the drive
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