Your teeth are
blue;
a popsicle is meltin’
nearby in the grass
and your mama is picking a tick
off your left, gaunt
shoulder blade.
“Summers are fun,”
you think, so you tell her
And you take another sip
of your melting ice cream.
Then,
you feel the bug
release its hold on you,
watch mama flick it in the grass.
Night is coming
and the blue air is tickling your
baby hair behind
your ear.
You look in the screen door,
press your face onto the
crisscrossing mesh,
and see inside that Mama’s boyfriend
Is bent, leaning over
her sitting figure on the couch.
You think they’re hugging,
But she’s so still,
Staring forward.
You notice that
His face is hard,
His voice is spitting,
And his teeth
Are becoming those of
An angry dog.
His whispers are so
Quiet,
But heavy and mean,
Biting even.
A dog barks somewhere
And they look up
To see you.
Mama’s stare
finally breaks like
a spell.
He’s glaring
And mama’s saying,
“get away from the door.”
-
The sun is
gone
and the grass
is turning cold.
Your skin is
still warm from your
sun-embraced adventures.
When you go inside,
you hop into mama’s
arms, chatty, and
bursting to share
the simple
sight of a snail
journeying
on the sidewalk.
But, instead,
she pushes
you off her
lap.
Your skin’s
grown cold again.
Mama is disappearing
down the hall,
closing her
door behind her.
You know it's him
that's shouting
behind the wood.
You’ve already closed
your eyes though.
Silently,
you're hoping
the sun
comes
back
real
soon.
