Child

"Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing."

 There was a time I could find music in a baby’s cry, the rhythm in a construction site. That was around the same time when I could tell you who I was.

Back when my mind was naked and my eye was clear.

But then I got breasts- well, sort of. And I had to learn how to walk in my own skin again. Not the kind of walking that starts on all fours, but begins with your mouth and ends with words.

My voice is muffled under overcoats and long underwear. I sure wish it were summer; barefoot moons, slip and slides.

I keep forgetting I was a child two years ago.

I keep forgetting sandboxes and ear infections.

I was a child when my parents found me crying in the kitchen. Illuminated by the opened fridge. I had opened it to see inside the freezer to see the ice trays that made small ice cubes, circular at one end, flat at the other, like the head of a bullet.

I had stuck one deep into my ear. As a child, I knew that ice stopped pain.

Now, I know it’s called numb. And I’ve discovered more than ice in the dark and the cold.

I was a child when my mother found me open mouthed, passed out in vodka on her basement floor.

Bet you’ll never try that again, will you?

And I haven’t.

Author's Note

Something I am working on.