the small girl felt sick at her stomach,
fighting back the urge to ***** while wondering
where mother was, the fear of what lay beneath
the bed not as urgent as the more immediate
fear of when she’d return,

her younger brother asleep, unaffected she'd
disappeared two weeks earlier,
knowing their family seemed "different"
than the rest of the ones on the cul-de-sac

friends two doors down said they could hear the fights,
and weren’t allowed to play with them anymore,
so she concentrated on her times table,
depending on the safety of their outcome,
the answers fixed and unchangeable~
numbers were more reasonable than the arguments that sprung,
more solid than the Corelle she threw at dad

if he’d had better judgement he would have institutionalized her,
instead, the storm would pass as soon as she’d disappear,
demolition repaired, including the Toyota Corolla,
and her multiplication ritual grew up from one to ten

in her mind's eye the sums took on a new shape,
turning into days, then weeks, then months,
until she summarized that mother might not come back at all

Written by Sara Fielder © Apr 2012

**** man , I just don’t know she says to me,
I just don’t know.
The sepia seeping into the memories spread across her table.
She wears her heart on her sleeve but weakness it is not.
Our deepest conversations have since I can remember happened in kitchen chairs
With corelle cups and music,
Rivers in the background .

I was lost for a while and I know it took me far too long to find my way back.
Thank you for waiting for me , for not losing hope that I would find my way,
I can never give you back the time,
I promise now that you can’t shake me,
Twenty-eight be ******.

She is grace, beauty and beat down in one,
Shaped by the parental other half,
Carrying the legacy like a crown.

When I miss him the most I turn to you because of it,
Because you carry the last flame , spark , of the man who chased the monsters in the dark.