Sometimes
Her ex-husband’s family put the dog down
after she lost him in the divorce.
I see him now guarding the youngest child, a toddler--
my uncle–after he fell into a ditch
at the construction site across the street.
The public housing they moved to wouldn’t
take him.
*
My grandfather tarnished her reputation
in revenge for leaving him or to get off
cheap in alimony and child support.
His stories of seeing her out on dates,
legs pressed against car windows,
are hard to fathom now. What if everyone
considered that each little meanness
might be puzzled over sixty years down the line
by his children’s children?
*
But she wasn’t always downtrodden--
resplendent in glass stones
or enameled metal
her soft voice almost cooed.
Sometimes she was a politician, gushing--
how pretty someone looked,
how beautiful the choir sounded--
getting everyone to like her.
© 2022 Ann Tweedy
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