As a child I swung fiercely on my swing,
staring at the red fire in the sky, crying silently,
pumping my thin legs & arms trying to reach the golden sun,
hoping this would give me warmth,
in a world where children laughed in numbers,
and I was alone, seven and somber,
stuttering or slurring words when I attempted to speak of
my Father's bad breath biting into my face,
yelling "Shut up, be quiet" until
I sewed up my mouth in attempt to keep the peace.
I didn't tell of the ropes that held me tight,
or the crazy man that screamed,
or the Mother that left me at four,
apologizing in some coded tongue that I will never understand.