who’s there

no one is home,

no "who's there"

to my "knock knock"

yet i keep tapping

like a woodpecker's beak

on the neighborhood birch

or nails on a coffin.

mommy told me

she'd take me on a drive when i got home.

she looked tired, her eye rimmed with black.

she must have

smudged her makeup this morning.

she told me we would go on a trip,

just her and i,

without daddy.

daddy scared me sometimes,

but i didn't tell her that.

i just hoped she'd get me ice cream.

i knocked one last time.

no one is home.

that can't be right.

mommy said she would be here.

maybe i should

try the door...

big words i do not understand:

"murder-suicide"

"two casualties"

"orphan"

"shit, what do we tell

the kid?"

i can no longer hear them,

stuck in a loop.

even though i am sitting down

in the cool leather seat of a cop car

wrapped in a blanket,

i am still knocking

in my mind.

knocking until my knuckles

bleed and bruise,

knocking until

someone finally opens the door.

if i keep knocking,

surely someone

will answer

eventually.