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your lungs fought to hold air.
I huffed and puffed
all the way home.
Like how, when you came down
(I had to eventually),
your head screamed with pain
and your body broke out
in panicky sweat.
Like how your little brother’s teasing
(irritating at the best of times),
would set you way off,
make you jump
off the deep end.
Like how parental concern
(inquiring minds wanted to know),
might suffocate you,
might confuse you,
might make you yell,
“Just leave me the fuck alone!”
This Time
it was Scott who asked for
the heart-to-heart. It was a
rather one-sided conversation.
May I come In, Kristina?
Can we talk?
He hated confrontation. I
could play the game two ways.
In-your-face. Or contrite.
What’s going on? Your mom and I
are worried about you.
