Red Lips & Battlefields

Four Years Old – A Memory


The brick beneath my foot
Is grey with memory.

I inspect it.

The left corner must have cracked
By virtue of a very big man
With much bigger feet than mine.

He must have been running.

Yes. He was.

My left ear buzzes.
The kind of buzzing that comes from
Being stared at,
Or being surrounded by flies.

I look up,

The eye of a gun;
It must have stared at me too long.

That’s what caused the buzzing.

I return my gaze to the broken brick.
Yes, he was running.

But, perhaps, he was not so big.
Perhaps, only four years too old.
Perhaps, he had a sister.


I do not raise my voice,
Or raise an unruly finger.
I know daddy will ask:
“Who taught you that?”


I close my eyes;
Imagine the finger pull.
Imagine the fire backfire.

Imagine an unlikely form
Of justice.

I giggle.
(MD 2013)

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