A Pinch Point
We’re at a pinch point,
she told him
As he staggered
through the gate.
the chair back with her foot―
rocking, rocking, rocking.
I’m not living like this
anymore, she calmly said
As he lifted the bottle to his
She picked up a green bean from the bowl she held―
snapping, snapping, snapping.
us has got to go, she stated
stomped up the porch steps.
knocking the beans from her lap―
the bowl clattering, clattering, clattering.
not going to be me, she declared
raised his fist one more time.
a gun from her apron pocket―
shooting, shooting, shooting.
was a time when I loved you, she told him
She knelt by his side―
sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.
No one would blame me, she
As she drug him through the woods.
for the shovel―
Then digging, digging, digging.
safe now, she crooned to the baby in the crib
daddy lay under a blanket of dirt and leaves.
a bucket with water and lye soap―
scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.
Janna Rollins plots murder and mayhem under the towering trees of the
Pacific Northwest. She is repped by Blue Ridge Literary Agency, where she
currently has two cozy mystery series out on submission.