“Stupid, stupid girl, he doesn’t care about you!”
I can’t help myself. I say,
“I wouldn’t be surprised
if one day my father skedaddles out of here.
I’ll be leaving with him.”
The blows come.
On my arms, my back, my face.
I tremble, fold up my spine
to protect against her wild hands,
I’m growing a hard kernel of meanness inside.
I’m getting stony, cold and stubborn.
I will not let her murder me
like it’s her job,
a little, day by day.
She’s ice. I’m fire.
When I look in the mirror, I see thunder.
At our house it’s always war.