Once I’d arrived, I could not leave alone. My door was opened every 15 minutes to check this wounded creature hadn’t found a bloody means of escape. The two of you came with your unwilling dad, who leaned away from loving me as if I were something rotten. I was made of paper, hiding the torn edgeswith a storybook façade. You tumbled together, brightly in the serene, sunny garden as if everything were normal. My arms were made just to hold you. When we returned to the family visiting hall, I showed you some of the yoga I’d learnt:happy baby pose. The three of us on our backs, bent legs skyward, rocking, laughing – more laughter than that austere room had ever known. It looked on, nonplussed, smelling faintly of Mr Sheen and boiled vegetables. I’d been brought the only treasure in the world worth anything to me, golden, brim-fullof an untarnished future. Even a place like this was alive with you. And you couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave. First Published in Anti Heroin Chic Issue 36
