What I could not see then,
even during slow walks through backyards,
was the wrath.
I heard shrill sounds travel through kitchen window cracks
as I passed each neighbor’s house,
sounds I recognized as shattering ceramic,
smashed dinner plates, perhaps.
But I, a boy of ten,
assumed it was accidental,
for I had broken a few things by then
and never meant to.
I could not comprehend
why men would break things on…