we had ran barefoot 
up our gravel road
to the top of the hill
where the everyone 
dumped their trash 
from my grandfather 
because she told me 
he was going to kill us

one get away car later
I was hunkered 
behind my great aunt’s couch
worried he’d find us 
while the orange sodium lights
cut through the blinds 
orange and black lines
on a white wall

the room filled with 
the smell of cigarettes 
Windsong perfume 
Potpourri cooking 
in a ceramic pot 

I waited 
lying on her carpet 
while they talked
about his schizophrenic fits
and wondered 
how long before we died