I remember how the shackles fit
since I was three years old
and noticed that my brother had cars
and I had an apron lined with
silver bars, they trapped my dreams
they hid my screams under a noxious smell
of burning bridges that led to nowhere
in the first place. " You're a girl, where
could you be going?" Could I be leaving
I hid behind my mother like a candle's waning shadow
The smaller she became, the less there was of me
my father was the dying flame that did her in
fossilized in her waxy remains, he drenched the house in her smell
when he left, she left too- her mind a melting factory
I hid behind the machinery that never worked
the brain- her heart only pumped to keep her name.
I prepare for my funeral every day.
surely I'll die before the letter arrives that
claims We were always better than them.
I'd break a thousand dishes and still
the fragments would not bury the roles.
I fear for the day a man delivers something to my home
peeking through the fish-eyed hole in my door
trying to see a way in to me
and I will stare back harder
until he sees I need nothing from him.