She whines and stiffens, becomes a bare nerve
, a live wire
. His face is silly, quiet, slightly frightened but trying not to seem so. They skirt around the issues
. Every now and then I hear someone protest in a tone that says, “This is a secret
, this is something I can not explain, please don’t ask me anything else, I am frightened and upset by that.” Mother
screams out sentences and Father
deflects them, but even here, behind this closed door
, so thin it’s as though they are in the room with me, I can feel her crying. Then silence, like an edge, the feeling of throbbing train tracks
against the back of my body
, I hear the thunder of the train
, see its’ face… Someone slams a door on the way to retreat. The train has HIT. Beatbeatbeatbeat beat beat beat …beat. Each acceleration
wears me down to a bit more nothing.
Mother echoes in the bathroom, cries amplified. Time does not end for her, every injustice is still a fresh wound. Will this happen to me too? Her words are like maroon leaves, scratching across my headstone. Nude and awake I am waiting. Do I dress and go to her? Beat beat beat BEATBEATBEAT…
I put my boots on and slip out the window.