Serafina and the Sex Offender
She is beside herself, shows me the letter
with shaky hands. Local police report
a registered sex offender has moved
to the area, not far from her squat bungalow
in the Jersey Pine Barrens. Serafina curtails
her morning walks, plops a Virgin Mary
statue on the front lawn, double locks
her doors. My never-married aunt remains
safe behind familiar borders as she scans
the street from her windows.

Sofia and the Storm
First thing in the morning, Sofia turns
to the weather channel, studies patterns
that reveal sleet, snow, rain, heat, fog.
Today, a storm snakes up the Coast
heading for Sofia’s Brooklyn flat. Sofia
rarely ventures outside, prefers to avoid
the vagaries of weather. She is content
behind glass doors leading to her terrace
where canvas chairs remain folded, smeared
with bird droppings, dead bugs, rotting leaves.

Filomena and the Phone
Another phone is delivered to Filomena’s
row house in Queens. This new model,
with its giant numbers, is her seventh
in two years. Filomena keeps a phone
in each room, and a few more to spare
in the cellar. My shy, socially awkward
aunt does not mind that incoming calls
are sales pitches or wrong numbers.
They keep her connected to the world
beyond her walls. Besides, she says,
you never know when someone
important might call.