I break enough dishes
to fill the recycling cart.
When she runs away
again, I stand in the backyard
and shriek. Almost a black belt,
I kick a hole in my closet wall.
I am Shiva, the Destroyer:
one day I might swallow her up.
Her boyfriend isolates her,
makes her promise not to talk
to other boys, tells her not
to wear revealing blouses.
When he splits up, she
tries to kill herself. After
in-patient and out-patient
she promises
she won’t see him.
Then she bikes
to his house at midnight
or climbs over the rock wall
disappearing in the afternoon.
She is sixteen—too old,
the cops say, to be reported
a missing child.

# # #
Susan Ayres is a poet, lawyer, and translator. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing with a Concentration in Translation from Vermont College of Fine Arts, and a PhD in Literature from Texas Christian University. Her work has appeared in Sycamore Review, Cimarron Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Fort Worth and teaches at Texas A&M University School of Law. https://www.pw.org/directory/writers/susan_ayres

Photo: Franck V.