Evening News - Delores Amorelli

Nothing prepares you for the moment 
the helicopter comes crashing through
your living room window. 
Minutes before, it circled above, 
punctuating a chase scene 
that played on the 5 o’clock news. 
 
No TV at dinner meant no TV your father didn't like. 
That's not true. Your father was never there. 
My mother instead, bent over the table, 
oven mitts still on her hands, 
her small body vibrating with excitement, 
You’ll never believe what just happened. 
 
It's not that we don't trust her story,
it's just that we know the words already. 
All the things my mother knows 
would be suicide in poetry,
platitudes and southernisms.
If it had been a snake, it'd have bit you.
Better late than never. 
Don’t go borrowing trouble. 
 
This poem has gotten out of hand. 
I was about to detail the broken windows,
the crunchy glass, the whir that didn't stop
even when it struck wood and stone. 
But I can't tell you about that when
my heart might beat itself outside my chest, 
thinking you might come walking through the door, 
mostly empty briefcase in hand, 
like nothing bad had ever happened.