Diana Donovan Some Houses

The houses where you were afraid to fall asleep they weren’t like the others on the tree-lined street

by the pond the neighborhood kids cleared after the snow everyone lacing up their skates as the sun climbed high on the ridge

setting up the plywood hockey goals—and later one of the moms would bring steaming Thermoses of hot cocoa

no—the houses where you crept into bed scanning for danger they were different—you might wake to raised voices

sound of glass breaking and was that the crack of bone? someone having trouble getting words out

maybe she’s on the ground, maybe there’s blood in her throat and lying very still—frozen—instead of getting up to see

thinking about the day when you’d be allowed to ride in a car with a boy and you could sip hot cocoa to warm your numb hands and face

maybe some day you’d live in a quiet house you’d like that, wouldn’t you?