Jaywalking

I jaywalked to the police station this afternoon

with a copy of my book

for the sergeant who had mercy on me

when I tore through town

in a state

because my alcoholic daughter

called me a whore

for loving her father. If she had

written a ticket, I wouldn’t have

had a dime leftover

to buy my own book.

I bought twenty-five copies

and jaywalked one to the police station

to say thank you

for seeing me,

a woman devastated

by her own flesh and blood

as a sister of grief

instead of something common,

another transgressor

to summon to the bench

for judgment.