A poem inspired by the "Valentine's Day Massacre" of 2005:

My mom is dead, and father cries "For shame"
"If you should leave this house, you are disowned"
I know his temper and the way he blames.
But leave I must, and little can he know,
as I recall the same words yesterday,
directed at the grand and loving dame,
that neither point of view that cries out "shame"
when someone dares protest, nor fear of pain
that halts the human soul from crying foul,
have any grip on me now she is dead.

For no one who once questioned mother's worth
could have a clue what shame and honor were,
and no one with a stick can now inflict
a pain that equals what I know exists
from loss of one so full of love and care.

Did father kill my mom? The point it moot!
When he decried her yesterday, she lived,
and I ignored.
But with her gone I know
he surely lied.
And when he tries
to scare me with old words,
I know what's left to lose
is nothing next to what was lost before.

So father, let me leave, and go unblamed.
And sister, see his power lose its words.
And brother, too, recall that life inside
the house in which she died is not a life,
and death in leaving it is valued more.