Barbara Towell
London, England
You look at me with fire in your smile, Yet all I want is to help you.
A raised fist flickers in your eye. Blink.
Knuckles raised above your bleeding lid. Half a woman with your chestnut hair Pale like a bone, with a split lip.
A grimace filled with hatred.
Hunched in the corner, A mane of greasy locks Frames the hungry stare.
Retreating, hunted, your shrill howl fills the air As you struggle to separate me
From him
And me from her.
Silence speaks.
Baffled.
My hand outreached
Haunts you as you creep away
Expecting it to knock you into next week, Knock you into the nobody
You recognise in the mirror each day.
You look at me with ice in your smile. I try, but cannot erase the years Nor crack that barrier to help you, child.