The Woman Who Wonders over the Potting Shed Over the Kitchen Window

There may have been even slaughter in our own neighborhood.
I watch the snow all the winter while shiny metal reflects a light
over locks when he has been opened and time again as if it
was polished, where it should have been rust. I would tell the
girls, if I knew. For all of us, perhaps for caution. But surely it
is only garden tools. But the fact, I do not know. He does not
want her to know. I do not want to know.