Alone with no other children,. Forced to roam the house. No one to color with,. Her new crayons sit in the box,. She peeks at the vanity. She has no knowledge of the. Damage being dealt with her. The crayons were no longer safe. Pieces were to be made. Revenge was to be painted.

I breathe in the cologne. That lingers on my pillow and. Thumb the pages of my favorite book,. To me before driving away.

They Danced in the Rain- poem 3. The family Heirloom- poetry journal 2.

8220;What would you do differently? 8221; she asks,. Pretend I am thinking hard,. And look out the window. I would reach back ten years,. And whisper into my own ear,. 8220;Do not do this to yourself. Who spit words like acid,.

Friday, April 10, 2015. Write a memory of something you could not possibly remember. It started with a crash,. A mansion turned soup kitchen. Too feeble to lift up a spoon,. She bent her head down. The ends of her hair turning orange. With the pigment of the tomatoes. Her mother, sweeping up the stray hair.