Understand?

Ada Heller | Spring 2024

Before I was old enough to understand,
before my family started going to church
when I was ten,
my mother taught me to pray
to the passing ambulance’s
cry siren of our
little tucked-away city street

Before I was old enough to understand
I catapulted from city to city
collecting each
like lines on a resume
until I got to the one
made of blood-stitched dreams

Before I was old enough to understand,
or bilingual in the don’t-speak,
Look-away -isms of the city,
the siren’s cry twisting around
corners up to my bedroom’s ear
filled me with prayer
Knees to the ground
Hole in my hands
Not big enough to save here

Before I was old enough to understand
epiphany rocked my midwestern sensibilities
No one would look up, no one to care
if that wailing siren someday, one day
cried for me

Before I was old enough to understand
each siren’s call
slammed through my heart
Teaching each beat
that I was failing someone
Failing my mother’s good intentions

Before I was old enough to understand
I stopped praying
I wasn’t taught right anyway
what difference does it make, I was
taught before I was old enough
to understand