three children sleep in a row share one room in the small new england cape cod on thousand acre road
creaking wood floor, white plastered wall sheers blowing in the summer breeze hum of a window fan cow manure in the air blends with baby powder
six year-old girl asleep in the middle wears a green polka-dotted nightgown braces on her feet black leather shoes welded to a metal bar easy for him to hurt her down there
darkness interrupted by streams of car lights dash across the ceiling yellow and red dots dance inside closed eyelids holding breath clutching sheets and sweating
after, he eats peanut butter on velveeta cheese in the kitchen in his underwear
she never tells anyone: carries a can of markers into the bathroom lifts her nightgown stuffs six, eight inside wants to make it bigger so his won’t hurt so much
fuzzy blue throw rugs cold tiles and scratchy grout water running in the toilet smell of bactine and soap whispers in the hall
hide evidence under the bed in the back of the drawer between clean shirts wiped from her body erased by a dream
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she won’t recover from her losses she’s not chosen this path but she watches who it crosses1
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in the morning before breakfast she walks barefoot into the yard dodges dog poop and ant hills steps over cracks in the dirt to pick purple lilacs for her mother
1. "The Girl with the Weight of the World in Her Hands" by The Indigo Girls.
