Unbroken • Poetry

fourteen

it was night time,
the city twinkling with yellow lights,
streets constellations beneath the smog-hidden stars.

there was shouting,
tears falling onto carpets, smeared on sunny-painted walls
tears of rage and frustration but mostly crying because of love turned sour

I don't remember the evening before,
or the daytime after,
I just remember my brother and I sharing fearful glances in the dark

and the stench of recycled alcohol floating in the air like
some kind of airborne disease,
porcelain shrapnel flying in the kitchen
our house,
the 500 square feet of battlground.

that night, we had
yellow lamplight,
thrown like blades onto the walls
through the gaps between our curtains.

but red and blue too,
flashing,
and drunken shouts
as they took her away.

Summer 2018