Izzy
My sister looks just the same as always,
but really she’s changed.
The space inside her heart that she kept for
me
has been invaded, taken over,
and I have been evicted.
She’s got no time to
talk
listen
laugh with me
any more.
Now it’s all
nappies
milk
blankets and
sleep.
The baby is triumphant, victorious.
Ruler of all things,
like a tiny queen of the world.
Like the tiny queen of Alex’s world.
Now, when the aggro boys make
rude comments
that make my legs tingle
and my ears buzz,
there are no footsteps
behind me.
No supporter, protector, defender,
just me and them.
If I try to ignore them like Mum told me,
it just makes them
worse,
baiting,
waiting
for a reaction.
If I shout back at them like Alex told me,
it just makes them
cry with laughter,
doubled-over, knee-grabbing howls.
If I cry, if I let the tears bubble out,
it just annoys them,
scares them,
and they mutter dark threats about
what they will do to me if I
make a complaint.
I don’t bother telling Alex.
She wouldn’t be able to
hear me anyway.
She is deafened
by the sounds of
cooing
crying
gurgling.
She is blinded
by the sight of
tiny fingers and toes and a
sticky-out tummy button.
Her ears and eyes belong only to
the baby.