I desperately needed to be held to your chest.
But you were washing dishes, cleaning your duties
So you allowed me to only hold onto your shin.
I still recall the feel of your stockings
Against my cheek, your apron
Brushing against my hair, I still
Wear the scar, caress the damage
Look at the hole you dug into my voice.

The day you decided to turn me into a ghost
I was three and quite busy in the process
Of teaching myself the difference
Between love and winter.