In the cellar I held my little sister on my lap. She’d just
turned four. I placed my hands over her ears
so she would not hear the loud banging
but she felt it and she saw the others crying,
she screamed her head off. Then I repeatedly took
my hands from her ears to hit her
so she should have something to cry about
someone to be angry with. When we emerged
and everything was ruins with arms and legs everywhere
she didn’t cry and said nothing and hid herself beneath the pot
that an apple tree grew in there she sat on her own
a day and a night then the men came then it got
so that things no longer knew us. No thing.
That’s how it went, that’s why we ran off. She’d just
turned four, my little sister, when it began, whenever.