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Muffled sounds of sex,
words, slightly louder than a breath
and the rearrangement of pink cotton sheets....
I knew you were there.
Watching,
I couldn't stop watching.
It was all I could do when the scream
wouldn't come, stuck like a nightmare.
She held in her throat the same
like a balled up sock, blocking our freedom.
We cried together as you drew circles
with your finger, around the nipples,
pushed your package
against her satin nightgown.
"They're starting to grow aren't they,
they're starting to hurt.
Those seven year old breasts,
I doubt it.
When you forced her hand down,
we had to
snap back together,
in order to move, and I
crawled over your drunken legs
getting us the hell
out of there,
to go to the bathroom...
one of the only acceptable
reasons
for getting out of bed.
The couch hid our dirty body
that night,
but you can still make us small
and less than a woman....
20 years dead.
Copyright © 1999
Christine L. Reed
All Rights Reserved |
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