There are two
No, more than two: three at least and maybe four
Not four, we would have noticed,
heard them
heard them at the car doors
heard their breath when they were searching.
We were blindfolded at the same time–I watched your face–
Black gloved hands
Other hands pulled at the upholstery
Under your seat, too
I don’t know
You do think
yes I felt them, their hands between my knees I thought–
They found it.
I don’t know
You do
It’s over then.

Our beach house at Hatteras: the hurricane Andrew?
The windows like black wide mouths sucked the glass in and
spit the shards
On our backs we hunched in pajamas under the secretary
Glass crept out of your skin for months, you slept on your stomach
The ocean at the second balcony, the house sliding away sliding
But we made it

Where have they gone?
They’ll need to see if it’s real show it to someone
This duct tape rips the skin on my wrists.
My ankles are knotted cords.

Seven long months
Please, not this
We did everything we could for him: you awake all night, the doctors
All those tubes all those tubes stuck in his tiny body
And he’d look at us like
I wanted to nurse him I really wanted to nurse him and there was no reason
You were strong
We made the right choice the only choice

Coming back, listen,
Those two, the same
No, more than two, all the gravel crunching, at least three
Here they are
It’s over then

One Response to “Thieves”
  1. I loved the personification of the hurricane: sucking glass in and spitting out the shards, and that phrase about glass creeping out of your skin for months. There are so many lovely and unsettling images in here. I will be re-reading and re-reading.

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