I remember looking at her, for the first time. A child weeping and afraid in the dark. If I neared her, she retracted. If I watched her, she tried to hide. I let her cry. My back to her, not but a few feet away. I said to her, yet, also, not to her.
"Why are you here?"
I heard her sob, I heard her sniffle. I heard her voice crack and break, like glass beneath a cinderblock.
"I can't go anywhere else."
Neither can I.
Yet, I never told her that. Instead, I turned to look at her. She was still small and shaking in the dark. She couldn't see me. Her eyes were wide, desperately trying to make out what I was, taking in as much light they were allowed.
"Do I have to leave?" She asked, sniffling again and rubbing her swollen eyes.
"No, you can stay. I will be here."
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
