Caution

By Danielle Bennett

She is all bite

Waiting for the perfect moment to lock

Her jaw down on your hasty words

She will swallow them

But only enough

To keep them lodged in her esophagus

She will spit them out on command

And look at your feet

Ask why you’re not cleaning up your messes

We were not afraid

Only knew our place

As grandkids

A noticeable distinction only felt in the air when she passed by

We were not her children

And if we disobeyed her children

We were the enemy

Teeth showed and we expected the bite

And we deserved it

Usually

She could be found cutting coupons

Storing them away until the next visit

She did not drive, only directed

But insisted we drive four hours home

With a trunk load of frozen food

She was always storing things away

Keeping them close

She smoked Lucky Strikes in the seventies

No filter

No complications

So she kept a pack next to her chair

She worked two jobs

He drank

She walked to the market

With all seven children

They learned to use caution

She learned to bite