An Ordinary Girl

It doesn’t take much: rustling bed covers a whiff of Old Spice menacing tattoos, and I travel backwards in time, heart clinched with fear my hands suddenly small and helpless, nothing but gulping gasps where my breath should be. Your hair oil Your manicured nails Your bristly crew cut Your fevered breath. My writhing shame My mangled dreams My nightly fear My scabbed up knees and gangly legs unwillingly intertwined with yours. It doesn’t take much and I am there, listening to a gaggle of kids playing on the street I know by heart, counting the moments until you release me and I rejoin them, not missing a beat as my trembling legs propel me over the jump-rope: just an ordinary little girl playing innocent games, once more.