She hit him with the lion's paw.
He punched her belly
then ran.
She left the cat running --
flopping, twisting
howling and hissing --
to chase my brother
down the hall.
Our head turned to follow the race.
There was nowhere to pass
only overtake.
At first he laughed.
He was 13 and fast.
She was his Mother!
His Mother!
For her, though
this was no game.
Desperate and cornered
he leaped through the plate glass door.
The glass and he screamed.
The crown imbedded in his skull
shone brilliantly
before he fell to the grass
his flesh and blood among the shafts.
He touched his brow in wonderment.
He turned to look at our Mother's face
her body framed in the pane's sunburst
the arm poised for murder,
and galloped from her rage.
She charged to sever him
and came to her senses
in the waning light.
She saw his teammates frozen
with mitts in hand.
The jagged glass.
(The money! The
money!)
My brother prostrate
His face bleeding
My father diminished
Our heart throbbing
The beast growling
Her chest heaving
The arm lowering.
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