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.