Something

I am eighteen years old

And I’ve been reduced to a puddle

Of shame and guilt and woeful regret

As you sit at the edge of my bed

And feign empathy

Insisting that the terrible things I confess

Must be little more than delusions

I am twenty years old now

And you ask to talk on the phone

Because you miss the sound of my voice

Two years ago you said this voice

Could never match the soul I swore I had

And again I cry to you

And you tell me that with you I am safe

I am nearly seven years old now

The humidity is suffocating

The mosquitos are incessant

And I am enamored by the lights above

For the first time in my life you trust me with my very own sparkler

The warm glow looks back to me inquisitively

As I dance around the yard

Spelling the name you gave me in smoke

A single spark cascades

It burns my toe and I scream and I cry

Because I didn’t know something so beautiful could hurt me like that

And you run over and pick me up and rush me into the house

And you clean it and hold ice on it

You kiss my forehead and squeeze my hand

You are the person who has hurt me the most

But you will not allow anyone else to do that hurting

Because the world is not allowed to hurt your baby

And you will surely hurt me again

But you will be there now when someone else hurts me

That has to count for something