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 edges
with 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-full
of 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
