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I threw the stool at the window, smashed glass
All over the front yard. I threw the baby's diapers
At the wall, covered the white paint with streaks
Of yellow crap. The breakfast dishes joined the glass
And the stool in the front yard, the uneaten eggs
The cracked coffee cups, the curled, brown pieces
Of burnt bacon. I screamed and screamed
And tore holes in the unfolded laundry
My husband's tube socks, the piles of too-briefly-clean
Cloth diapers. "Is this all there is?" I heard
Myself saying, over and over. "Is this
All there is?"
When the police came, I was asleep on the couch
The baby safe and quiet in my arms
The two of us wrapped, picture-perfect
In a single, clean, warm blanket.
"A ghost did it," I whispered when they asked
What had happened. "A ghost got in here
And ruined everything."
Holly Day
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