AFTER THE NEIGHBOR KID BROKE HIS TOY WAND AND TRIED REALLY HARD NOT TO CRY ABOUT IT
It’s just a long slim silver chime
I cut from its brothers
on one of those porches
where they keep them, hanging, tapping in
to each other like court reporters for the wind.
I know it’s stealing.
I know I know it’s stealing because I waited in the dark
until the entire world was perfectly still to do it.
And because I wore a black turtleneck.
A a necklace of scissors.
While I waited for my moment,
I imagined the people who love me, but mostly my mother,
happening upon me, the scene of me, at three in the morning,
hiding in the landscaping, crouched between clumps of irises
I was trying not to crush.
What in the world are you doing Mindy?
I thought we talked about his?
I thought we agreed you would stop this sort of thing?
Why did I buy you all those notebooks?
Why did I give you all those pens?