MY MOTHER MUST SELL HER HOUSE

street empty, hedge uneven and unkempt
sidewalk broken with dandelions, wild 
strawberries. Walking barefoot

into broken glass, blood between my toes
on my mother’s street. Backseat window
broken, hand luggage stolen: three passports

around $ 500 in euros and a book I love
signed by the author. Thief took
a minute and we didn’t hear 

a sound sitting in the kitchen facing
the street, the street of my mother,
her blood in mine, and days, weeks

spent to visit the Swedish police
in my hometown, the American embassy
in Copenhagen, friendly huge bouncers

smiling, and the dirty passport office
in Buffalo NY. I am surprised at how
quickly my bloody toes healed.

PUBLISHED IN PINE HILLS REVIEW, AUGUST, 2024