My Father’s Children

They tell me after that her nose broke
that there was blood for so long
she cleaned herself with toilet paper.

They tell me I finally did the thing
and years after we joke about the fact
that I realigned my sister’s nose

because she hasn’t bled since that night
when previously she used to bleed daily,
and I wonder what kind of magic my fists held.

I don’t tell them that I had to talk myself into it
that I drew the boundary line and said if she comes for me again
I’ll finally try to land a punch rather than take the hit.

I don’t tell them
that when I swung, and my hand returned to me
I was sure I’d missed.

People You May Know

Today Facebook suggested 
I add him as a friend. 

Said—hey, you have the same last name
and he’s smiling in his photo
so I’m sure he’s a good guy
and I’m even more sure you’ve probably missed him. 

Facebook notes that we both 
graduated from the same high school.

Says that we have one mutual friend.

Facebook forgets to account for 
the Formerly Mutual Friends who 
clicked Unfriend after 
I wrote about the abuse following
Grandpa’s funeral.

Speaking of my grandfather,
he’s in the profile photo, too.
He is laughing at something in the distance,
Not even posing for the picture. 

So much so, 
When Facebook prompts me to Add Friend
it takes several seconds before 
I realize who the man in black is, smiling beside him
and feel the panic like mice scrambling in my throat. 

In the garden of Eden,
the snake talked to Eve. 

I’m sure he smiled, too.

LYNNE SCHMIDT

Lynne Schmidt is the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor and mental health professional with a focus in trauma and healing. They are the winner of the 2020 New Women’s Voices Contest and author of the chapbooks Dead Dog Poems (Finishing Line Press, 2021), Gravity, and On Becoming a Role Model. When given the choice, Lynne prefers the company of her three dogs and one cat to humans.