Finding work. (poem) (The Aunt Joe Poems)

I used to think good and evil were big as a whole door that could suck me through against my will, but that's not true. I can stand here and decide. I open this door. See how small a turning life depends on? In this cold room, money dwindling, Wilfred might as well have been a woman, hugging failure like a pillow in his arms all day. I'd think of my father, measuring powder in his drug store for thirty years, counting out a million pills, one at a time. I cut down one of Wilfred's coats, tucked my hair beneath his cap, stepped out the door, that first good step, the second, easier. I walked …