Certain horses make women
in my family lick their palms
and throw spilled salt
over their left shoulders.
The devil stands there.
In the bluish dark
of my parents' bedroom,
mirror after mirror
tilts over and breaks. Hidden
in the nightstand, I found
photos of my mother's swollen
lips, ex-boyfriends, the rain
on her wedding day.
A wet knot.
On the day my father left,
the whole sky split open
as I watched my mother's fist
unclench for the first time
in twenty-six years & I saw
the knot unraveled.
Bone dry.
