How are you, I ask,
as her caregiver holds up the phone.
The attic is leaking. The stairs are rushing
through the water and the roof is wide
and unfinished.
It’s just the two bedrooms upstairs, Mom.
You’re safe.
But why have you moved the house?
Men can climb through the ladder.
She leans into the phone,
the mafia know about the roof
and I think they shot your father.
It was his heart, Mom, remember?
Oh, they shot him in the heart, did they.
There’s no mercy, I tell you.
Grey Sparrow Journal 