The children blindfold me,
tie my dyed hair
across my eyes
like a harness,
wedge a sock
in my mouth. Struggle
with the instinct
toward what they can’t
grasp. Lead me
to an imagined
trailer, its rubber
wheels, red
mulch, wrestle me
inside. Drive me around
the property, stripped
since the last tornado.
I tell them I am unsafe
with my mother.
Hear her call out in the near
dark. The hair loosens
from my eyes.
We are all of us unsafe
together
in the coming night,
stumbling
toward a rusted out
Chevelle,
through the crackle
of AM radio
—a preacher
wailing his homily
like a pack of baying hounds.
Kate Sweeney
Kate Sweeney is a poet. She holds an MFA from Bennington College and serves as Managing Editor for Pleiades Magazine. She is the recipient of the 2024 Adrienne Rich Award from Beloit Poetry Journal. Her poems and interviews have appeared or are forthcoming from Poet Lore, Poetry Northwest, Beloit Poetry Journal & elsewhere. She is author of the chapbook, The Oranges Will Still Grow Without Us (Ethel 2021).
