Slamming Open the Door

Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno

• Editorial: Alice James Books
• Año: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781938584633
• Categoría: Littérature
• Categoría: Poésie américaine

Of all the losses we may be asked to bear, the murder of one’s child must be the most terrible. These poems evoke that keenly, seeking justice but transcending judgment as they grieve loss, celebrate love, and find healing.

HOW TO FIND OUT

After you call her

again and again

on her home phone,

and your intention,

like a mouse in a snake’s belly,

swells the wire

as it runs from one pole

to another

and still she doesn’t answer—

after you call her

on her cell phone

and summon a satellite network

to assist,

to bounce your voice

from your house

to a floating point in space,

to her house,

and still she doesn’t answer—

after you leave many messages,

and your husband leaves messages,

and your sister leaves messages,

and anxiety flits over and around you—

ignore it. She is an adult now.

Wait a day.

First leave a final message:

We are going to drive

up there right now, young lady,

if you don’t call us back in fifteen minutes.

And then start driving

in a hard rain,

you and Dave,

and when you get to Skippack

your cell phone will ring

and someone will say

she was just spotted

working her nursing shift

on the hospital floor.

Laugh and turn the car around then—

a ton of relief

barreling back down Route 73.

When you get home,

call the hospital,

just to make sure.

Her supervisor will say

No, no, she’s not here;

she hasn’t shown up for work

in two days.

This is the time

for your throat to thicken,

for your fingers to get rubbery,

for you to call the police

and say, Please please

go to her apartment and

if it’s locked, please

knock down the door.

Now you and your husband

and sister and her husband

must jump into his car

and drive so fast you might crash;

hold your husband’s hand hard

but do not look at him,

do not look him in the eyes

until one of you says,

Jesus, I have to go to the bathroom,

and all four of you run

into a diner somewhere

and as the patrons look up,

charge into the restroom

and pee hard,

so you don’t wet your clothes later,

and take a moment

to dry heave a little into the toilet,

but not too much, there’s no time.

Pull up onto her street.

Jump out of the moving car

as your brother-in-law parks it.

Run past police cars,

ambulance,

all the silent people

sitting on curbs,

gathered on porches,

their arms folded

waiting for you,

the parents,

to arrive.

The chief of police,

poised behind the yellow tape,

will spread his long arms to you,

his palms outward.

This is it:

your very own

annunciation.

Try to be thoughtful,

don’t make the poor man say it;

see ...