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I’d already been
pushed aside by
my mother
and my father.
I’d already lost
my Grandpa Carl
and Grandma Jean.
I’d already been
shuffled through
one foster home,
another, one more.
That was the fourth.
Why didn’t anyone want me?
What was wrong with me?
What if that place
was my last chance?
Was that what it took
for someone to care?
No, I never told.
Another girl did.
MY BODY
Healed quickly. But the wound
to my psyche was deep.
Wide. First aid, too little, too late,
left me hemorrhaging inside,
the blood unstaunched by psychological
bandage or love’s healing magic.
Eventually it scabbed over,
a thick, ugly welt of memory.
I work to conceal it, but no matter
