my mother yells at me because i keep my window open so often during the day.
she’s tired of repeating herself, she says,
and don’t i remember what happened here?
it was a murder, you know, she says.
it happened here. your own family were killed.
i peel the windowshade down,
mumble irritably like all sons might,
and when she leaves peel it up again.
she must think i’m being rebellious, disrespectful. difficult.
what she doesn’t know is that i leave it open for you,
so that you may fly into my dreams each night– kiss me tender–
and protect me from those men she’s so afraid of