Brine
I COULD HERE HIS CRIES.
I FOUND A LITTLE BOY LOOKING UP AT ME WITH PLEADING EYES.
“DADDY HURT ME,” HE SAID AS HE TURNED AWAY FROM ME.
THE BRUSES AND BLOOD WAS ALL I COULD SEE.
HIS LITTLE HANDS TREMBLED AS HE REACHED OUT.
NO ONE KNEW WHAT HE WAS REALLY ABOUT.
HE TOLD ME ABOUT RACE CARS AND STARS.
HE TOLD ME HE WANTED TO BE AN ASTERNAUT AND GO REAL FAR.
HE TOLD ME ABOUT HIS MOM AND DAD IN MARRIAGE THAT ENDED REAL SAD.
HE SAID IT SEEMED LIKE HE WAS ALWAYS BAD.
HE TRIED SO HARD NOT TO MAKE HIS DADDY MAD.
A SMALL RED BIBLE WAS THE ONLY PROTECTION HE HAD.
HE SAID “MY MOM READ IT TO ME AT NIGHT,
RIGHT BEFORE SHE WENT DOWN TO DADDIES FIGHT”.
I PUT IT ON MY PILLOW AND NEVER LET IT OUT OF MY SIGHT.
SHE DIED NOT TO LOND AGO.
SHE LOVED ME SO.
I KNOW SHE’S WHATCHING EVERY DAY,
EVEN WHEN HE MAKES ME PAY.
I HONESTLY DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DAY.
“SHE USED TO PROTECT ME,” HE WENT ON
“BUT SEEM’S BEFORE LONG,
I TOO MAY BE GONE.”
I WAS STUNED, SITTING IN THE PARK
PITCH DARK
WITH A SEVEN YEAR OLD TALKING ABOUT GOING TO HEAVEN.
AFTER HE WENT HOME,
I WENT TO MINE ALL ALONE.
I CALLED THE POLICE TO HEAR THEM SAY THERE WAS NOTHING THEY COULD DO.
READING THE PAPER THE NEXT DAY HIS NIGHTMARE CAME TRUE.
MY GUILT GREW.
SEVEN YEAR OLD FOUND DEAD,
TRAMA TO THE HEAD,
I READ THE HEADLIN.
SEVEN YEARS OLD NAMED BRINE.
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