Inherited Posture

I checked the deadbolt three times tonight.

The click is a language I learned by heart

watching his back in the dark.

The neighbor’s kid stepped on the edge of the lawn

and I felt the shout climb my throat

before I could stop it.

Watch the grass, I said,

and my hand went flat on the counter,

heavy and tired,

the exact way he used to wait

for the news to end.