Priorities.
three nights.
two days.
waking in pain,
feeling razors internally slicing inside.
a dark girl, sitting on the sidelines.
she doesnt understand the pain that he feels.
so she sits by his side.
holding his hand.
rubbing ivory hands over a tanned back.
vocal chords defying her,
unable to speak words to soothe and comfort.
just stay by me,
he whispers,
dont leave me.
and he calls for his mother.
you look away from his humiliation.
then come the words of warning.
he's worried about her.
he doesnt want her to hurt herself,
he doesnt want her to use weapons to replace her emptiness.
its all to much for her to bear, and so she cries.
she doesnt let him see her.
its dark in the room, dimly lit by a lamp.
the light hurts his eyes.
the light shows her ugly side.
and then another enters the room.
plump like him.
worried,
dark bags under her eyes.
she doesnt ask if the girl's alright.
the girl understands priorities.
she goes to sleep in her room,
pulling the covers away from her body.
opening the window.
allowing air to flow over and under her body.
the woman takes the man away,
to the building filled with fluorescent lights,
smelling of urine and pine trees,
latex and hand sanitizer.
priorities.
Copyright © Lisa Barton | Year Posted 2006
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