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cotton nightgown.
And the repulsion
glimmering cold in
her eyes is familiar
because it is some-
thing I have seen
staring back at me
from the glacier ice
of my mirror. I already
suspect the answer
when I ask, “What in
the hell happened?”
I OPEN MY ARMS
Her eyes grow wide, and she shakes
her head. Tears streak her cherub cheeks.
I slip out of my bed, move toward her,
and she shrinks back against the wall.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I won’t hurt you.”
I approach her as I would a cornered dog,
crazy wild with fear. I force my voice low
and calm. “Now tell me what happened.”
This time when I reach gently for her,
she tips forward into my arms. Sh-she
m-m-made me do something b-b-bad.
I told her n-no, but she said I h-had to.
She? Darla? What kind of bad?
“Who, honey? Did she hurt you?”
Ashante hesitates, trembling. I insist,
“What did she make you do?”
Finally she admits, It was Erica.
