My Stepmother

there was once
this clearing in the woods
in the empty lot
beside my Dad's house.
a tree with big leaves
and mossy ground and
a path only I
knew

I remember
after the funeral, 
coming in
the family room's
dimmed light and the

forest of hushed
people.
their voices
floated above me.

I did not
know how
to be sad

Outside, I saw the bulldozer
the churned dirt
the red realtor's sign,
And cried

I hope now
that she knew
what I didn't
When she explained to the others
that, no, I wasn't crying about
her father, but
that empty lot.

I hope now,
(and this just occurs to me)
she saw not the traitor
I think
But instead just
the child
I was
who just
couldn't find
her way home