“Daddy! Help me!” those are the only words i can remember
As if an etch-a-sketch has been permanently ******* into my head,
I think it was december,

and the image of my father crying, face cold with hatred
has been painted into all visible spaces of my head.
I’m sure he baited.

Pressed against his hips were sidearms.
Something was leaning against my young head.
Leather arms

My father screamed and reached into the car.
I was choked from my toes to my neck to my head.
Tightening as if i were a jar,

A piercing shriek must have escaped my own frostbitten lip,
I must have been told not to worry my pretty little head,
Because they adjusted their grip.

Before it had begun, over was December.
As if it were a dream thought up by my own little head.
Something I still remember.