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.
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