Shell Island, North Carolina

In families, true crime
means something beautiful,
forbidden loves, murderous
cousins whose eyes gleam
and limbs twitch when
the gun appears in the room.
Your father sits alone,
reading cookbooks,
imitating celery, while your
mother sends you to any
store that sells gin
on a day like this one
when cold does not mean
crisp or lovely, and
the voices are also outside,
oh those little bites
things are not right
and it must be time
to take action, but
I am not responsible,
I am not responsible,
and for this which will
not let itself become spring.

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