Lost my no

by Heather Rae

Lost my no,
somewhere between,
tiny uncertain steps,
something not quite
running, more like
a toddle,
from steel blue eyes,
always teetering
the edge,
of taught lips
that trembled
their weight
of the latest perils.
“Don’t you dare tell…”
and
“… make your mom
leave you”,
that soon
find their quarters
with the rest
of the lot,
in a tarnished
bucket of
fraying and faded
ribbons,
waiting their turn,
to loop
beneath dirty chins
that slip through
the fingers
of the mirror’s hands,
the many faces,
salty and wet,
yet dry
to the touch,
the sky touched looks,
full of blur,
hiding the stains
of thriving shame,
shoulders begging
to recall
the scummy walled
tub and
the tight
resolute grip,
holding them under,
unknown voices
full of silence
pushing and shoving
into my ears
water drowning
our own
deafening screams,
yellowing brown bruises
hidden by it’s wake
they’ve learned
not to show,
but the stopper
let’s go
and I damn it’s
crooked smirk
ridden grin!
Throwing the pack
back in place,
it’s haul full
of slab,
each never
known name,
piecing together
the walls
of my sentence
sealing my fate.
“Let me give you a hand”
no need for consent,
grown feet stride
with surety now
still lost my no
but it doesn’t matter how.