you were my Snow White baby
locked, pressed into sleep
with apple slices stuck in your throat
i prayed at the altar of your nightstand, an offering every morning:
pictures          chocolate           small dolls i sewed from scraps
in the middle of the night, sitting by your bed when i couldn't sleep

i read to you, just in case
you could hear. once
i held a mirror above your mouth, because
you were so still           your skin was molten, crackling with heat,
a jumble of just-hardened lava bones
bright cherry mouth, cheeks blooming          but so pale.
my Snow White baby, i didn't know if a prince would save you
but i wanted to be your knight in armor. i wanted to armor you--
but you can't protect against attacks from the inside

i remembered months before, lying in the grass with you
          sunlight           reading books in trees
muddy, you fed me croissants mashed in your fingers
and oranges that fell from the branches. how precious i held you,
your tiny body braved against mine, the smallness of you in my arms
we were children then.

that Christmas you woke up for just long enough
to crawl from your quilt-nest
and sleep instead under the christmas tree

your fever-sweat and the coloured lights
made your skin into rainbows
i remember thinking how magical you were, how
much i'd miss you
if you never woke up.

He loves me for who I am, but so do you.
He makes me smile and laugh, but so do you.
He makes me feel safe and warm and chases all the nightmares away,
but so did you,
when you had the chance.

He’s got his problems, and so do you.
And when I left they got worse,
but so would his,
if I left…

And every night I stare at the spots on my ceiling
as I lie awake,
contemplating what the difference really is,

if I’m really happier now,
or if I just like to tell myself so.

When I look at my father,
I see a man who was kicked so hard by life
that emotion became a sign of weakness.
I see a man who chokes on the word "love".
I see a man who has never heard a single "thank you"
even though he lives his life for others.
His hands are calloused from years of hard work.
I've never thanked him for sacrifice.
He is made of steel and the strongest of oak
and yet I, his daughter, am made from too much water and glass.
I break too easily. Give in too much.
And yet for a second,
I have broken him.
He becomes all puddle and sobs.
All teary-eyed and cracked voice.
For once, I am out of words.
There is only silence.
There is no "I'm sorry".
He does not look at me again.