she was usually a solitary
child, despite the anxious
smiles and
chatter, despite the family narrative
telling her who
she was, while hundreds of books
were devoured by her
insomnia, she
became a cherished
companion of the
giant oak where
the crows spoke tales of places she
would not see
until she was grown, places
only lonely
children would dream of
she often watched
the creatures who
crept through the
undergrowth, visited with fairies
living joyously
beneath the ferns, imagined they were waiting the
arrival of their freckled
queen with mud under her fingernails, and
mayflowers tucked
behind each ear, a girl
who only wanted to
be chosen,
for someone to sit
quietly next
to her in the
grass while petting her hair,
just long enough
to share dreams
though crows are
not so affectionate, and little
brothers and spiteful
older sisters willed her invisible
the girl was
nearly unnoticed to the martyr who hated
her life, who made
it known that she despised the
old house in the
woods, and had given up everything
she ever could
have been, just so her ungrateful little brats
would launch her
high above the other mothers
out of pure obligation,
the other mothers who actually
wanted to know what their little girls were
thinking
and dreaming, mothers who truly wanted to
know
that their daughters were safe inside
their own minds, instead
of making them out to be sneaky
little sluts, just
waiting for an opportunity
to further destroy
their mother’s life
© 12.5.2019 heather brager
