17.

She’s

fourteen

and

has tried to kill herself.

I cannot see it.

I cannot see the why.

Why?

Momma says,

loud in Liz’s face.

We stand in the living room

all of us,

with that bright

sun splashing

on the floor at

our feet,

waiting for the police

to carry my sister

away.

I didn’t shoot,

Lizzie says.

But Momma’s called the cops

anyway.

(It is my responsibility to take care of Liz.)

I won’t do this,

Momma says. I won’t do this.

I won’t lose

anyone

not even

one

more

time.

(And Liz’s

supposed to take care of

me.)

Liz,

my Lizzie,

she does not answer.

But she does look

at Momma.

She looks at her

so hard

so long

that Momma

finally turns away.