She stands
arms crossed,
face hard,
like stone.
The mountainside challenging
an onlooker.

He comes to inspect the merchandise,
looking and feeling,
making his choice.

She watches.
They walk away together.

Three a.m.
She looks at the crack in the sidewalk,
a tear rolls down her cheek.
Laughter has stopped:
It's quiet.
An old man
lying in the doorway
grasps his bottle and burps.

She steps over him,
sliding a key into a lock
unlocks memories
flooded by tears
warped from age.

A little girl on Daddy's lap
watching the boys play in the park.

Mom in the kitchen
laughing.

Laughter,
frightened and running
looking for a place to hide
in a park covered in newsprint,
an alley behind a dumpster,
slipping on a cat,
insides eaten, half gone.