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lamb

I once shoved you hard into the weeds of a field
On a beautiful, clean day with crisp fall air and white sky.
I turned and offered myself to the mad dog,
A hope that he would remember me,
That you wouldn’t be hurt.
And then the dull white ache of longing,
The deep sorrow of a little soldier.
My breath burdened by teeth and claws.
Little rag doll in the mouth of a monster.
Six years old,
Legs like broken sticks I hobbled,
Hunched backed,
Past the friendly petunias in the front flower garden.
I recall the pleasure of a warm breeze.
A curious moment of discovery,
My blood beautiful.
Through the white door of my house
I crawled onto my bed
Where I bled
On the purple flowers printed on the crisp white spread.

February 2013