A glass figurine shatters on the hardwood floor
With his claws in her throat, lavender lines paint the canvas
How is she supposed to take it anymore?

Bellowing rage vibrates warning ticks, shaking kids to their core
Hidden beneath ornate chairs, nervous legs smack the table
A glass figurine shatters on the dining room floor

Oldest boy of fifteen drags mother through his door
Tonight she can sleep, but tomorrow they will pay
How is he supposed to take it anymore?

She collects tiny crystal animals kept safe in cabinet decor
Until he's sweating out whiskey, aiming bottles, always missing
A glass figurine shatters on the living room floor

Sour vomit stains his collar; he wakes up, head sore
Realizes what he's done, reaches for the bedside revolver
How is he supposed to take it anymore?

One body pummels to the ground, then two, three, and four
A neighbor finds the bodies, falls against the bloodstained drawer
A glass figurine shatters on the bedroom floor
No one has to take it anymore

Photo by Kori Haubrich