Patricia Hearst to Tania
by Gail
Sometimes the closet darkness opened like curtains
onto a stage where her family posed:
her father dictated calm memos,
her mother smiled attentively at charity meetings,
Steven graded papers at his desk:
life just the same for them without her.
Her captors, people she could not keep straight,
preached her the gospel of the evil rich,
the violence that was their due,
in words that became thunder after the first hour.
She crouched, awaiting the storm.
After unknown days
her name moved out of her
and hovered by her face,
whispered "Are you coming?"
but there was nothing in her to answer.
The next time they opened the door
it flew out to safety
as she raised her face
to their certainties.
