He was everything that has roots in the cracks of my skin that are sidewalk scars – the bleeding wrinkles of time in my soul that had scabbed over but ripped open anew – and I hate him for it.
He was the middle school girl in science class
Too high in the social strata to acknowledge her
Unless it was a partner lab day and the other popular girls were out sick.
And then they were best friends.
He was her father’s anger
and her parents’ fighting
Unaffected by her perfect grades
(And the voluntary additional chores
And resume-building
And extra curriculars)
And she was still sitting helplessly at the top of the stairs,
listening.
He was the boy who asked her to go swimming
At the empty house
And then cornered her in the pool
And left her feeling guilty for not seeing the signs earlier
And thinking she was the one at fault.
To pull a weed with a system of roots so deep can tear up entire worlds.
abstract relations vi 