Thick and warm
The shafts of sunlight crashed through the western window against my freckled skin.
“What do you want to do?” He had the audacity to ask through a smile.
I cling the pillow to my guts in fear, but why?
He never hurts me—
Not in the way that a four year old could identify.
(I WANT to watch TV)
(I WANT to be with my sister)

He stood at the end of the hall
Distance, darkness, and my own self preservation masking his expression.
Really playing up the villain, he beckons silently with one finger—
I often wondered if anyone else saw.

The brain is a truly miraculous thing.
I don’t remember how many times,
I just remember the sunlight and
“What do you want to do?” He asked, and once I felt the genuine hope that only a child can muster.
“I want to watch TV.
I want to be with my sister.”
But, no.

Didn’t your mother teach you to not play with your food?