—how do you survive, how do you make it through?

Always listen to the women.

My father broke my mother’s nose, her hand.
But he didn’t die alone. Two of my sisters were there,
holding his hand.

Driving down the street you make a sudden maneuver to dodge a stalled vehicle and the guy on your tail flips a switch when you cut him off,
speeds up and cuts in front of you, screaming and flipping you off,
jams on his brakes so his bumper comes up on your vehicle,
you’re swerving out of the lane to evade, speeding to pass
in the traffic on the avenue—dusk falling—you’re laughing
because he speeds up, both vehicles beginning to race;
a woman’s voice rises to a pitch: “No, no, no!”

And you’re reluctant, but already you’re slowing.