Wednesday, August 5, 2015


Among them she preferred the youngest.
Remember, when she rode her bike, his hands wrapped around her?
Shed never forget, she said.
I heard her. By then I had an infant son.

Time went fast. I recall a teen, eating dinner.
He reached for a fork from the drawer, behind him.
He fished a small one for dessert. His hand huge by contrast.
A mans hand. 

How many more times would he sit there?
The table was also too small. He must have known.
He must have played dumb, for my sake. That large hand betrayed him.
That fork.

I looked down while eating. I wanted the picture to sink in.
A tattoo, each pixel a drop of my blood.
Those long scorched fingers. That risible silver.
That amulet, dangling.

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