TOTI O’BRIEN Charm
Among them she preferred the youngest.
Remember, when she rode her bike, his
hands wrapped around her?
She’d 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 man’s 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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