Random Trigger, Karen Shepherd

Wet road on a Saturday evening.


Black hole behind my eyes
consuming me from the inside out.
Unstoppable. I don’t even fight it.


Little girl sitting in the rain,
curls heavy on her brow,
singing, umbrella twirling,
feet in the gutter,
dampness safe on her skin.


From the kitchen window, Mom calls
sweet yet strained, heart
falling into the crumpled leaves.
Boots left on the doormat,
chair next to her sister’s,
head down, chewing grizzle,
resisting the gag to avoid
the punch. Ungrateful.


Smell of beer and fried meat.
Dad kicks the dog licking his paws
under the table, gives a demand.
Clear the table. Glasses rattle, spill.
Wipe the milk, keep quiet.


Look at you. Come sit with me.
Hesitate. Be mocked. Be hit.
In the bathroom, lock the door.


Reflection in the rearview mirror,
little girl with red eyes.
Look at you, still quiet
feet in the gutter.

© Karen Shepherd

Karen Shepherd lives with her husband and two teenagers in the Pacific Northwest of the United States where she enjoys walking in forests and listening to the rain. Her poetry and flash fiction have been published in various journals online and in print, but most of her work just lives on her laptop. Follow her at https://twitter.com/karkarneenee

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