We haven’t been home
even
five minutes
when Momma
starts to work.
She tears our room up good
looking for that diary.
I help her go through
our bedroom things.
My mouth is
dry, watching.
Will Momma find it?
Will she?
Momma throws Liz’s stuff
this way and that.
Help me look now, girl,
Momma says.
And I do, though
I don’t want to, I pull books
outta the bookcase and
stuff from Liz’s little
nightstand.
Momma says once
and I can see she’s madder
than a snake.
When she’s tired from searching
she looks at me
and says, loud,
Get this mess cleaned up.
And I do as fast as I can.