trauma

Through a Child’s Eyes

orange street-lamp sherbert,
an ice-cream cone right
outside my window, because daddy
I’m a little kid and I
love to love the world
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Higher—A Story About Playgrounds

I remember you used to push
me
on the swingset
higher higher higher
so high I could see the
rose garden down the pretty path
I’d laugh and scream and you’d push
me
far too hard
but I wasn’t worried about falling
because you would’ve caught me,
I thought
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Withdrawal (from a person)

withdrawal from a person
is different from a
drug—it is the
scratch of a rusty
house key with the message
“bitch” in
pretty red letters but you’ve gotta
turn the key, sweetie, so
what’s left
for me to
unlock?
what’s left for me to
scratch up?
(more…)