THE THIEF

He entered her home through the side window,
beneath the glare of high buildings
that offered a perfect view of the crime,
dry leaves and footprints smeared across
the crisp blossoms of the cotton comforter.

Inside he crouched on the floor,
emptying jewelry boxes and drawers into his pockets,
her grandmother’s earrings, her mother’s watch,
the sterling diaper pins her daughter wore,
all vanished in a minute,
taking their stories with them.

Now she sits with the curtains drawn,
reading back issues from last year,
tables of contents spread open on the floor,
trying to recall what of her life was stolen,
what was borrowed,
more frightened than a thief.