It’s your smile that calls me back.
Your smile and those eyes,
brown and trusting,
now grown-up,
they’ve seen it all,
a mom gone on the bathroom floor,
your pink ruffled dress
ready to celebrate,
the loss and loss and
cops to call and foster homes,
not like the happy ones you see in the movies,
you say,
not where they take care of you but where
they trap you in your room,
attach a security device to the door so you
hit the floor
run and run
lying motionless in a closet
snuck in at night,
anything to be held by family,
while their pills spill,
needles and gold,
how young and pretty I remember your mom
articulate like you
the way you instruct your daughter
to throw her trash in the can,
take a break from the bars,
her calloused hands and
adoring eyes and you talk
about hard work,
talk about suffering,
everything about you so lovely,
so poised,
so together and I wonder
was it really me who taught you
to read and write,
was that us
all those years ago?
***
About the Author
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