It doesn’t make me
feel better
that most violence
isn’t random
or shocking
or newsworthy,
just domestic conflict
at the house
across the street
and no one really
wants to talk about it.
But there’s a woman
with a bullet hole
and a man in jail
and I went from hearing
their sounds of everyday
boring and normal –
trash cans rolling,
a leaf blower,
remote control car –
to hearing
the sounds of their
lives falling apart –
gunshots in the night,
an angry voice,
layered sirens.
I can’t pull my body back
from responding to
a 911 operator’s questions
and pulling my son
away from the window
in case more bullets
are coming.
It doesn’t make me
feel better
that all over the world
on a Monday night
lots of someones
are hurting the person
they promised to love
and lots of men
who got the gun
with a pledge to defend
will turn it on the woman
they promised protection to.
What does safe mean
when I jump out of my skin
at the sound of a man
and his child walking by
ready for reaction
like I could protect
or defend us all
from ourselves.