A child (somewhere) squats, scratches / the dirt with a twig, muttering broken broken / broken muttering an excellent place to hide / an excellent hole, a hidey-hole, a spider hole, the hole she / will crawl into or through one day, not / today, thank god, not yet, she can’t know yet / each hole is a word, each word / a thread. Let’s try this again, without / the child this time—broken broken broken / no sun today, no shadow. Tiring / isn’t it, this kneeling, lips pressed to / the sidewalk, whispering into a crack. Yesterday / it all seemed normal, Brooke Adams says / to Donald Sutherland, as he drives her to / the psychiatrist—today everything seemed the same / but it wasn’t. Brooke didn’t know, couldn’t / know, not then, that Donald was gone / already gone.